


Shotgun

by WiEGoP



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Action & Romance, Between Seasons/Series, Canon Compliant, Crack Relationships, F/M, Family, Inappropriate Humor, Unplanned Pregnancy, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-19
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-05-21 23:02:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 68,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6061432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WiEGoP/pseuds/WiEGoP
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after Season 8. The Blues discover (a) Private Grif is pregnant. Washington angsts about teammates and team-kills. And Caboose searches for booty, orange juice, and possibly old friends. Fills in the gap for the Blood Gulch Crew between seasons 8 and 10, and follows up on Sister and Junior. Crack Pairing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lopez's No Good Very Bad Day

Number of Days Since Departure of Sarge: [Entry Deleted]

Blood Gulch Outpost 1 was peaceful. And Lopez the Heavy was happy. From the top of Red Base the robot surveyed his tiny, boxed in paradise. He had deleted from his files the number of days it had been since [File Deleted] had left to die on his bogus mission, preferring to experience the blissful solitude as one eternal moment. If he'd had any feelings of loneliness early on he'd long ago erased the memory. In his base he had everything he could need in the way of motor oil, spare switches in several sizes, elbow grease and pirated tejano music.

Parked outside the base was the Blue Tank he had stolen. Though the beautiful machine was silent and lifeless, he had spent hours lovingly repairing it. A robot had to have a hobby or two. And Lopez's current hobbies included fixing Shelia's old body and standing atop Red Base for hours or even days at a time, savoring being alone. On the air there was only the chirping of birds. There were no bickering voices, no whines and demands, no megalomaniacal rants. No one blowing up his vehicles. No one asking him questions and then filling in 'his' answers with insane raving. Not one moron, breaking his peace and quiet.

The sound of moaning and retching wafted across the canyon.

Lopez entered his base, working to keep hold of his calm. _Solo una idiota,_ he told himself, _solo una._ He could take it. All the remaining Blue did was stay in her base listening to music or sleeping. Even the raves and parties had died down now that she no longer had partygoers and had run out of alcohol. Yes, her disgusting moans, sobs, and sick sounds would echo through the whole canyon. With increasing frequency. It was getting irritating. Lopez knew he could kill her at any time, technically he was supposed to, but Lopez had a niggling concern that killing the last Blue here would end the excuse [File Deleted] had for leaving him behind. And even with the distressing noises, this was the best he'd had it his entire existence. He was almost completely alone. Almost completely unbothered. And he even had legs.

Loud, across the canyon the sound of a toilet flushing, then a whining sob, as the retching started anew.

Picking up his battle rifle, Lopez walked outside to where four cardboard cutouts were lined against the base's wall. Four cardboard cutouts of soldiers in Spartan armor, one was red, one was maroon, and one might have been red before the sun bleached it a lighter shade. Last in the lineup was the tattered remnant of a dark yellow soldier, now so battered, burnt, and blasted that it was little more than a charred orange outline on the base's wall. Lopez raised his rifle and took aim, shooting the Maroon and Pink one through clean holes in the visors already pierced by practice. The orange one Lopez blasted through the blackened crater between the cutout's legs where a codpiece once had been. Finally he lined up on the red one, aiming over the chest plate, right for the cutout's heart and stared through the sights. There were no bullet holes in the cutout of the red soldier. Yet. Lopez stared down the flat image of Red Sergeant, finger ever so gradually tightening on the trigger.

"Hey! Asshole!" The nasal whine cut into Lopez's audio receptors like daggers. "You mind! Some of us are trying not…not…to—" The Blue's shout died out into a burbling blarg that Lopez was pretty sure wasn't alien.

"Dios mio." Lopez lowered his battle rifle and stalked off to the direction of the caves, and their secret passage to the caverns beneath the canyon where Lopez kept another of his hobbies, the Blue Team corpses. Which were, by now, pocked with hundreds of rifle bullets.

Later, after peace had returned to his idyllic canyon, Lopez returned to what was probably his favorite pastime. Serenading his tank. Standing before the inert body where Shelia once resided, Lopez practiced the songs he hoped to one day be able to sing to the tutorial program for the M808V Main Battle Tank in person. The tunes from his radio provided the backup music, "Dije que no llamaría, pero perdí todo el control y te necesito ahora…" At the height of his monotone cry of longing a loud wet belch echoed from the base. His base. Lopez turned and, raising his battle rifle, stalked slowly into Red Base.

He found the Blue by following a trail of neon yellow armor, first a helmet, then gloves, and gauntlets. He finally found Grif's sister kneeling half undressed over the Red Base toilet, making noises that, one by one, Lopez instantly erased from his memory. He cocked the rifle and considered killing the Blue and lying about it later. Sister heard the noise and turned to glare at Lopez, resting her face on the edge of the toilet seat.

"What the hell is your problem?" She shrieked. "Can't you see I'm busy?" She resumed puking in the toilet.

"No hay cervesa aquí, ramera. Su hermano bebió todo."

"I'm not here for beer dumbass. The stupid toilet at my base is broken." She flushed the toilet and then stared into it.

Lopez took aim at her right as her body tensed in another spasm. After she had finished, he barked at her. "Salir, inmediatamente, o voy a matarle."

"Okay, okay, just give me a minute, geeze." She looked around the floor, searching. "Damn. Hey you! Gay guy? Do you see a white stick anywhere?"

"No soy gay." Lopez raised the gun. "Ahora van."

"I am not going without that stick. They come in twelve packs and that was my last one." Sister was crawling around on all fours, looking in all the nooks around the toilet. "And you are totally gay."

"No Soy" Lopez scanned the floor, deciding that finding the stick and getting her out of his base was probably better than shooting her and killing his excuse for staying in Blood Gulch.

"Pish. Naw. I can always tell when a guy is gay. I'm like telesexual."

"¿Cómo?" Lopez finally found what looked like a plastic wand on the tiles under the sink. He crouched down and picked it up gingerly.

"You found it!" Sister grabbed the wand from Lopez's hand, and stared at it. Then she shook it. "Damn it! Hey you ever hear of like…I don't know, Jagerbulls messing with your pee? Gay dude?"

"No soy gay. Soy un robot."

Sister looked up him, shocked, "You're a robot? Wicked! I've never fucked a robot before!"

Lopez backed away, panicked. "No me toques, ramera!"

"See? Totally gay." She looked back down at the white stick and sighed. "Um… you don't have like…fifty bucks I can borrow?"

"¿Por qué?" Lopez stepped back again and heard a crunch beneath his foot. He looked down to see that he had stepped on a small cardboard box. He bent down to pick it up, and read the packaging.

"Damn it, damn it, damn it." Sister was muttering to herself. She threw the stick down on the floor, glaring at it, turning first red, then green. She ducked over to the toilet again.

Lopez bent down and picked up the white stick; and compared it to the packaging.

"Es positve." He said. "¿Usted está embarazada?"

Sister sniffed into the toilet, eyes watering. "Embarrassed? Naw. If you don't have the money I can get it some other way. You have a webcam I can borrow?"

Staring at the pregnancy test, it took a moment for what the Blue had said to register. "¿Espera… que?" Then Lopez decided he didn't want to know. He held up the test. "¿Que es el padre?"

"The father?" her face squinted up quizzically, "Nobody's ever asked me that before. It's always more like, 'how long have you been off the pill?' or 'which veins can we still use?'" Her eyes darted to the Red, suspiciously. "Wait….it's not you is it?"

Lopez stared at her.

"Ohh, yeah…gay." She nodded to herself.

"Robot." Lopez protested.

She walked past Lopez to start washing in the sink. "Well hombre, if you don't have a webcam to loan me, gotta get back to my base. See if I can remember where I stashed my customer card for the clinic." She smiled, "One more punch and my next one's free!"

Lopez grabbed her arm as she tried to pass him out the bathroom door.

"Hey!" she shouted, "That's sexual harassment!" then she smiled and slid closer, "Yeah, that's okay, I can get kinky.'

"¿El padre?" Lopez said, forcefully.

"You seriously expect me to remember?"

"No ha habido nadie aquí. Sólo usted, y yo, y…" Lopez dropped her arm and stared at her.

Suddenly his radio cracked to life, and a familiar, much hated and much loved voice came crackling through his helmet's speaker.

"Come in Lopez. Senor Lopez come in this is Sarg—"

"Hola. Esta es Barranco de la Sangre. Discurso de Lopez." The robot responded automatically, then instantly hated himself for doing so.

"Hey… I know that guy!" Sister exclaimed. "It's the old sergeant dude!" Lopez fought an overwhelming urge to turn off his logic sensors and permanently delete his simulated imagination. He muted his mike to talk to Sister.

"¿El es el padre?" Lopez asked it, but he already knew. His radio droned on.

"Lopez! It's Sarge! Que paso? Whaddre you doin'?"

Sister shrugged, "Yeah, maybe. I guess. I'm not a freakin' scientist or something."

"Lopez?" Sarge asked over the radio.

Sister moved to leave the bathroom again. "Look, you're on the phone, and I got an important appointment to make, so I'll just be-"

Lopez grabbed her by the arm again, and turned his radio back on. "Uh, Me disculpo, no puedo utilizar el teléfono. Deja por favor un mensaje..." Sister tugged on his vise grip.

"Really." She whined. "Not in the mood."

He muted his radio again. "Usted se quedará." He commanded.

"Aheheheheh Lopez ya old kidder. Cut it out." Lopez was panicking, trying to hold two morons at bay at once.

"...le llamaré des tras."

"Come on, let go. What the hell?" Sister said, her face a mask of confusion.

"Ha Ha, seriously, program disable lying mode. Voice verification: bravo niner."

Lopez sighed. "Commando acceptado. ¿Qué usted tiene?"

"Can he really do that?" Sister was wide eyed. "Turn off your lying thing?"

Lopez muted the mike. "No."

"I need you at the new base on the double."

"¿Por qué?

"We got power, I need your help building something awesome. Ya busy?"

"No. Acabo de matar a esa muchacha encima a la Base Azul."

"No you didn't!" Sister protested, eyes wide. Lopez squeezed her arm in warning,

"Ganamos a propósito."

"Great!"

Clicking off his radio. Lopez stared down at Sister. She looked a little frightened now. "What are you gonna do with me?" She asked, chewing on her lip.

"Usted se quedará. Voy a de radio pronto."

"I can't stay! At twelve weeks the price goes up another fifty bu-"

"No. Usted se quedará aquí. No cervesa. No narcotico. O os matarán." Lopez commanded.

"Kill me? Okay okay Geeze!" Sister slumped in his grip. "I bet I'd lost the punchcard anyway."

Lopez unmuted his mike. "OK. Estoy viniendo."

"Great, we'll see you soon!" The radio transmission ended.

Lopez pulled Sister's arm, his words as hard and unyielding as his grip. "Quedate aquí. Si usted deja, voy cazar a los confines de la tierra, y os matarán." Lopez dropped Sister's arm finally. "Reciemendo que come una comida saludable."

Sister sulked. "'The ends of the earth,' feh, ya don't gotta get so dramatic. And a good dinner? Whadda you care? Why are you doing this?"

Lopez stalked to the bathroom door. But he stopped at the threshold.

"Para mi padre." He muttered, voice heavy with a self-hating resignation. "Cogerme." Then he was gone.

X X X

A/N: Since prose doesn't lend itself to subtitles I have supplied the following cheat-sheet of Spanish to English words that will help you understand the ethnically diverse cast in the Red vs. Blue universe.

Dictionary:

Matar- to kill/murder

Salir- to leave.

Soy- I am

Voy- I'm going (to)

Toques- touch

Usted- You

Quedará - stay

Aqui- here.

Ramera- slut

Cogerme- Fuck me.

X X X


	2. Lost in Translation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Washington gets an angry phone call. Sarge is disappointed again.

Former Freelancer Agent Washington sighed, looking down at his new…okay slightly used…cobalt blue chestplate. "Listen guys," he started haltingly, embarrassed. "I'm not really good at this. I mean, I'm not good at this anymore. There was a time, before…everything, when this would have come a lot easier."

He fiddled with the controls. "I don't know why you all are doing this for me after I betrayed you to work with the Meta, after what I did to Church and Tex." He paused. "And Doc… And that pink guy… And the Mexican. I guess what I'm trying to say is…is…" He sighed. "You got me out of prison, and I swear, I'm gonna find a way to make this up to you all somehow. You guys do need to understand, I'm not really used to trusting people anymore either. So this might be hard at first. I'll try. It's just been a long time since I was on a team with where I wasn't constantly looking over my shoulder. Wondering when they're gonna snap. Wondering when they're gonna shoot me in the back …since I was on a team with people that I didn't hate…"

There was a hammering on the canopy glass, and Washington looked up from the hornet's controls to see Private Tucker's cyan fist knocking on the window of the hornet they'd stolen. Faintly he could hear a windblown voice shouting. "Duuude….Did….you….say…something….about…backs?" There was a bang from the other side of the Hornet he turned to see Private Caboose peering into the cockpit, the blank visor of his mark V helmet radiating intensity, his head nodding up and down like he was saying something. When the Freelancer didn't respond he placed both hands on the glass of the cockpit and began gesturing and tracing pictures, helmet still bobbing. Washington mumbled under his breath, finishing his previous thought, "…so why start now?"

Wash could barely make out Tucker's shouting. "Caboose! You dumb moron! Hold on to the goddamn plane!" Caboose's gesturing was turning into wheeling as he attempted to keep his balance on the runner of the Hornet and worked at getting his point across.

Agent Washington yelled back, his voice echoing loud in the cockpit, "He can't hear you! Tucker! Use the radio!"

The very top of a greenish blue, Mark VI helmet appeared on the edge of the canopy. "What?"

"I said use the radio!"

"The radial?"

Sighing Agent Wash turned on his helmet radio, "I said use the radio."

_"What!"_ Tucker shouted, full force, right into the speaker at Washington's ear.

"Ah! Dammit! Private Tucker! I said Caboose can't hear you, use your radio."

_"Oh…well… why weren't you?"_

_"Hey…guys…."_ Caboose's voice came over their speakers.

"Yeah Caboose?" Washington said, not listening. "And Tucker, what do you mean why wasn't I using—"

_"Hey…guys..."_ Caboose said again. _"I think I know what Tucker—"_

_"Not now Caboose!"_ Tucker said. _"Man, I could see your head bobbing in there…you forgot to turn your radio on too."_

There was a long silence from Washington. "No I didn't."

_"Bullshit dude, I could kinda hear you…"_

_"I am falling."_ Caboose said through their radios. _"Definitely falling."_

_"Not now Caboose!" Washington snapped. "Wait…Caboose did you say you were…" He looked to his left out the canopy…there was no Mark V helmet peering in at him._

_Tucker looked down to see a rapidly shrinking blue speck, free-falling to the snowy wasteland below._

_"Wheeeee"_ Caboose waved at the Hornet. 

_"Hey, uh, new guy?"_ Tucker peered over the canopy. 

Washington pulled the Hornet to a stop, hovering in the sky. "We just lost Caboose…didn't we?" 

_"Naw…. He's right below us, I can still see-"_ There was a loud thunk they could both hear without their mikes. _"No wait. Just slid down a hill. Yep. Definitely lost."_

_"Ow."_ Caboose said into the speakers by Tucker and Washington's ears. 

"I'll set us down." Washington sighed. 

_"Ohh man!"_ Tucker whined, _"No way we're beating the Reds back to base now."_

X X X 

As Private First Class Dick Simmons clawed his way from the flaming wreckage of the Hornet they'd stolen, his first thought was a stabbing fear that his teammates hadn't survived. His second thought, which rose up to overwhelm the first, was a gnawing desire that maybe, just maybe, both of them had died. Coughing on his knees he glanced around him, but he saw no other soldiers, just trees, and dirt, and grass and rocks. 

"Dammit Grif!" A gravel voice barked out from the other side of the wreck, "Now we'll never beat the Blues back to base!" Simmons sighed and circled around the crashed plane, where Sarge was standing yelling. "You cost us an important strategic advantage!" 

"Sarge! I'm glad you made it out! Are you okay?" Simmons attentively looked his sergeant up and down. 

"Fine Simmons, now help me shout at Grif." 

"Yes sir! Good job crashing our plane Grif! You fall asleep at the controls you lazy, worthless…"Simmons trailed off, looking around. 

"That's right, dirtbag! You think stealing these planes is easy? I mean…I guess we got this one no pro-" 

"Sarge…where is Grif?" 

"Where do you think Private? Where he belongs. Going down with his ship…in fiery oblivion." 

"You mean he's still inside?" As Simmons stared, there was a blast from within the plane and white hot flames engulfed the entire Hornet. 

"Yep. Now step it up with the insults. Before his ears melt! I want the last thing he hears to be the sound of someone telling him what a worthless turd he is." 

"Oh God, Grif!" Simmons yelped. 

"Ohhh…man." Grif moaned, but his voice wasn't coming from the blaze. It was coming from near some trees up the hill behind them. 

_"Grif!" Simmons ran up the hill to where an orange soldier was lying on the ground. Sarge slowly followed, slumped in defeat._

"Ohhh…what happened?" Grif groaned, face down in the grass. 

"What happened?" Simmons snapped. "You crashed the helicopter you idiot!" 

"Grif." Sarge grumbled "Lying around when you should be dying. Again." 

Grif managed to stagger to his feet. "It's not my fault. The engine just quit on me." 

"Why would it do that?" Simmons stared over at the blaze. 

"How the fuck should I know?" 

Simmons was incredulous. "You were the one flying the Hornet!" 

"Yeah, well, I'm not exactly flying certified." Grif retorted. 

"Well you're certainly crashing certified." 

_"Gimmie a break, It was my first time trying one of those."_

"You flew a spaceship from that Freelancer Storage place to Sidewinder." Simmons spoke slowly, in a sort of emphatic disbelief. 

"No, I _crashed_ a spaceship on Sidewinder…you seriously need to learn to be realistic with your expectations…" 

"Can it you two." Sarge ordered, 'We can discuss Grif's miserable failure and inevitable demise later. And we will! Simmons! Put it in my day planner! 

"Yes Sir!" 

The Red Leader gripped his shotgun, all business. "The heliwhatsit has had it. So now we need to figure out where our base is at." 

"First sir, shouldn't we figure out where _we_ are?" Simmons asked. 

"What does it matter where we are? Look around you Simmons, you see any Blues? Any Bases? No? So we don't need to be here! This place might as well not exist. Then there's nothing to do here. No base, no place." 

Grif sighed contentedly. "You know. I'm really starting to like it here." 

Simmons was looking around their current surroundings. "Hey, this place kinda looks familiar…I know I've seen those concrete bunker things before. Wait a minute. Look at that wall. The welded scorch mark." 

"So?" Grif shrugged. 

"Don't you guys see? That's the way into Valhalla. It's just on the other side of this wall." Simmons walked closer to the dark black mark, examining. 

"Through a wall?" Sarge asked. 

"Remember that's how we got out of Valhalla last time? When the Meta was chasing us. There was a hole there! How can you guys not remember, you were the ones who came that way!" 

"Ohhh right. Fun times." Grif nodded, then yawned. 

"And that floating ball thing..." 

"That guy was such a dick." Grif said. 

"Yeah. But he closed up the wall again with that laser eye so the Meta and Washington couldn't follow us through. 

"So all we have to do is have Grif crash the something through the wall again." Sarge said. 

"And since that's something he's proven so good at today…" Simmons grumbled. 

"Shut up." Grif snapped. 

"Simmons!" Sarge commanded. "Help me find something for Grif to crash into that wall at high velocity. Preferably something without airbags. Or seatbelts. Would be neat to find one with huge spikes in the dash, or a bomb in the front bumper. But we shouldn't hope for too much." 

X X X 

"Caboose! Caboose where are you?" Tucker shouted as he and Agent Washington trudged through the snowy forest. 

"I don't know Tucker." Washington said, looking around. "He fell pretty far. Do you really think he survived?" 

"If it were anyone else, I would say no. But this is Caboose we're talking about. And we're not that lucky." 

Washington slowed to a stop so he could scan the area again. "Well he's not answering his radio, and I don't have anything on my motion tracker…" 

"Man, he would be so much easier to find if Church were here." 

"What makes you say…" 

Suddenly their radios crackled to life. _"Church? Where is Church?"_ A disoriented voice moaned. 

"That's why." Tucker explained. 

"Caboose! Where are you?" Washington called as he started sprinting through the forest. 

The Caboose sounded excited but dazed. _"Church! I am here Church!"_

"I'm closing in on your signal Caboose…keep talking." 

_"Quiet Agent Washington….Church is calling me."_

Washington rounded a huge boulder and found the Blue sprawled out face down in the snow. He sighed. "Church isn't talking to you, Caboose." He explained "We were just talking about him." He knelt down beside the soldier and started examining him. 

"Oh…" Caboose paused. "'About' means that he is not here….doesn't it?" Tucker caught up, and crouched down next to Washington. 

"Yes, Caboose." The Freelancer turned to Tucker. "Well he's alive, but he's pretty out of it." 

Tucker hesitated. "You know it's Caboose, right?" 

"I mean, I think he probably has a severe concussion." 

"What?" Tucker stood up "How is that even possible?" 

"He fell from a plane." 

"Yeah, but to get a concussion don't you have to -you know- have a _brain_ first?" 

Washington surveyed his fallen comrade. "I think we might have to carry him back to the Hornet." 

"Aww man…no way I'm carrying him." Tucker protested. 

"Why?" 

"One, Caboose is fucking dense." 

"Yes, I _know._ " Washington sighed. 

"No, I mean he's really heavy. I try and lift him and I'm gonna throw out my back or something, and I need all my lifting power." Agent Washington stared Tucker down. "You know, for picking up chicks." 

"Right. Was there a second reason?" 

"Yeah. Two dudes carrying another dude?" Tucker backed away from the pair. "Totally gay." 

"Fine. You stay here with Caboose. I'll go get the Hornet." 

"Wait…" Caboose moaned. "Don't leave me Mr. About-Church…Don't leave me here with Tucker…" 

Washington sighed to himself as he made his way back to the VTOL. Any small hopeful feeling he'd been having at the prospect of his new future and clean slate was quickly disappearing. As he climbed into the cockpit his radio crackled to life again. But hissing and popping. Like the signal was faint. 

" _Oye, hijo de puta, el hombre púrpura no tajo mis rollos de pizza y a ese bastardo me sigue pateando!_ " The voice was female, sounded pissed, and yet somehow he thought he recognized it. " _Oye! Robot Gay! ¿Dónde diablos estás?_ " 

"Uh…hello…I mean Hola. ¿Quienes es?" Washington scraped around in his mind digging up some ancient Spanish lessons as he lifted off in the Hornet and cruised low over the treeline. 

" _Hijo de perra! Estoy alucinando aquí! Wait? Who is this? You're not…is this Doc?_ " 

"Uhhh no. Doc isn't here? Who is this?" There was a niggling pang of guilt as Agent Washington realized it hadn't occurred to him to give Doc a ride out of Sidewinder. The medic was annoying, and kind of a sissy, but he _had_ saved Washington's life when he'd thrown him the tow hook from the Warthog. Washington wondered where he'd ended up after the UNSC had arrived. 

" _Who is this?_ " 

"This is Agen—A guy. A guy who is _not_ a wanted fugitive of the UNSC. Just a guy. How did you get this signal?" Washington sighted Tucker kneeling next to Caboose and set the Hornet down. He kept trying to place where he'd heard the grating female voice before as he climbed out of the cockpit. 

_"I don't know. It was in my helmet. The other asshole's radio isn't working. I ran out of sunscreen and pizza rolls two days ago, man. And the only thing left to drink is that shitty Fresca stuff. Whatever."_

Tucker cocked his head. "Dude, who's that on your radio?" 

"Hold on." Agent Washington waved him off. 

_"Don't tell me to hold on! My skin is itching, my feet hurt, and this bastard won't stop kicking me in the back."_

Washington's brain stumbled over the last part of the message. "Wait…what?" 

Tucker was hovering around Washington, like a dog on a scent. "Is that a chick?" 

_"I wanna talk to that gay robot!"_ The voice demanded. 

"Church isn't here… abouts…" Caboose moaned from where he lay. 

"You know girls?" Tucker exclaimed. "And they call you on your radio? New guy, you just got so much cooler. 

_"Okay…then Doc. Get Doc and tell him that I can't put my boots on and I haven't taken a dump in a week!"_

"Doc?" Tucker was dismissive. "Last time I saw him was right after we schooled the Meta. Wonder if the Reds gave him a ride?" He paused, then. "Wait… Sister?" 

_"Hey…is that Tucker?"_

"You have a sister?" Washington asked, but Tucker was too excited to listen. 

"Hey it _is_ Sister! She was on our team for a while…" 

"She wasn't a mean girl…" Caboose mumbled into the snow. "But she wasn't a regular girl either, Church said so." 

_"Tucker! What's up? You still have that kickass sword, and that dog kid?"_

"What?" Washington's was ignored. 

"I don't know, are you still F. I. N. E. ?" Tucker crooned near Agent Washington's helmet forcing him to back away slowly. 

_"Uhh…If you any what?"_

There was a sinking feeling in Washington's gut. "Wait…Now I remember where that…You're that yellow Blue girl from Blood Gulch." 

"Yeah, we heard you died." Tucker added. 

_"Really? That's cool. Listen if you don't know where that Spanish robot guy is..."_

"Oh…him…" Washington felt another pang of guilt. 

_"And you don't know where that Doc guy is. Then you think you guys can come pick me up? I'm lonely and hungry lying around on this hot beach all alone. It was fun for a while. But there's no one else on the island. And, I think my bikini shrunk or something…because I keep popping out of it."_

"Oh man." Tucker exclaimed. 

_"Yeah. So I just stopped wearing it. But now that I'm out of sunscreen I've had to start covering myself with whatever I can find in the fridge."_

"Oh man…" Tucker was practically salivating. 

"That happens to me, a lot." Caboose mentioned. 

_"Yeah. Tell me about it. I mean the cool whip worked pretty well. But now all I have left is this chocolate syrup."_

_"We'll be right over!" Tucker shouted at Washington's helmet._

_"Great! Can't wait to see you! Guess I better go find my bra…"_

"Not necessary!" Tucker replied enthusiastically. 

_"Okay? But if you guys could…I don't know…bring like some Twinkies, or a watermelon. That would be great!"_ Agent Washington's radio clicked off. He was facing Tucker, menacingly silent. 

"What?" Tucker negotiated. "She's Blue, we're Blue. We get her and we'll have an advantage over the Reds." 

"Cause she sounds so tough." Washington commented, flatly. 

"Come on," Tucker wheedled. "We gotta rescue the damsel in distress. Especially the extremely hot damsel, naked on a beach, covered in chocolate." 

"Tucker," The disgust dripped from Washington's words. "She's your sister. I'm pretty sure that's illegal, and wrong in…" 

"Not _my_ sister. Sis-ter. It's like…her name or something." 

"But I've met her. She's crazy. And stupid." 

Tucker was unfazed. "And I'm desperate." 

"Fine." Washington relented. "Help me lash Caboose to the skids on this thing, and we'll go pick up your raging moron." 

"You mean hot date." 

"Whatever…" 


	3. Booty Call

In the shady grove, birds were chirping, leaves were rustling, the motor to a Mongoose was roaring, and Grif was screaming. The speeding vehicle cleared the top of the trapezoidal concrete bunkers and slammed into the wall between the Red Team's home and the isolated, shady hillock. Both motorcycle and driver slid down the wall, creaking and groaning.

"Grif! How'd it go this time?" Sarge called out from where he and Simmons were standing, watching by the side of the bunkers.

"No better than last time…" Grif crawled away from the wrecked Mongoose and the still completely solid wall.

Simmons inspected their makeshift ramp, doing mental calculations. "It's no use Sarge, without more mass or higher velocity, we aren't building up enough inertia to break through the wall."

"Hmpf. More mass. Never thought I'd want Grif to be fatter. You hear that Grif? You fail at mass!"

Grif gave up his struggled crawl and collapsed. "I hate math. And I hate you."

"Grrrr…I guess I better get to work fixing the motorcycle. Again. Which means I need to find more spare parts. Again." He wandered off in the direction of the trees. "Simmons, you get the dead weight dragged back up the hill."

Simmons sighed and walked to where his orange companion was collapsed next to the wall. He was about to bend over to grab Grif's arm when he heard a faint voice calling from the other side of the wall.

"Owwwwwwwwwie..."

"Simmons—" Grif groaned as he rolled onto his back and tried to sit up.

"Quiet Grif, you hear that?"

"Yeah, it's the sound of my bones. Because they're broken."

"No, not _your_ bitching. I know what that sounds like all too well. Listen."

Again, soft and mournfully. "Owwwwwwwchies..."

"What do you think it is?" Grif whispered.

"Ghosts?" Simmons gulped.

There was a low thrumming sound from the grove. A fuchsia alien vehicle crested the hill with Sarge at the controls. "Good news men!" He shouted "Guess what I found in a cave on the other side of the field?"

X X X  
Washington felt a sinking feeling in his gut as their destination came into view. From the air the island looked barren, rocky... the only signs of life being a faint green sheen of stubborn moss and huge twisted cords of driftwood. Dominating the sparse landscape was a thumb of dark brown smooth rock jutting up like a tombstone, the tower of an ancient alien fortress. It seemed like abandoned was its default setting, but Washington knew from experience that it hadn't always been so.

Washington landed the airship on the beach and hopped from the Hornet's cockpit. " _These_ are the coordinates?" he mumbled, wondering why fate loved dragging him in circles.

"Was there an X on the map?" Craning his head to see, Caboose knocked his helmet against the runner of the Hornet where he'd been securely lashed with ropes.

Tucker sauntered over to Washington's side, both ignoring Caboose. "What are you askin' me for? I'm not fuckin' google earth."

"I wasn't asking you." Washington snapped.

"So who were you asking, Caboose?"

"Someone please untie me." Caboose sounded groggy, but it was debatable whether that was from the concussion, or his normal brain lag. "Before the pirates come."

Tucker didn't even turn to face Caboose. "For the last time, this isn't a treasure hunt!"

"But you said we were going to an island for the booty."

"Not that kind of…fuck it." Tucker refocused his attention on Washington. "What…so you were talking to yourself?"

"Maybe." The waves lapped on the shore four or five times in the awkward silence.

"You wanna talk about it?'

"No. Look, I've just been here before, back when I was first hunting the Meta."

Tucker scanned the island, "We're there hot chicks here then? Why didn't you say anything?" He turned back to Washington, "And weren't you working _with_ that huge nasty motherfucker?"

"No, this was before that. More than a year ago." Washington started walking down the beach, checking his motion trackers, every sensor in his suit scanning for life. Tucker followed him.

"Dude, I fuckin hate this 'I-was-stuck-in-the-desert-when-shit-was-going-down' crap. I am so confused."

"When I was here the island was abandoned. Except for corpses." Washington peeked around a boulder, but all he saw was more washed up driftwood. "And Agent Wyoming. I think he was using the fortress for a base."

"That asshole?" Tucker swung his sword emphatically, "I fuckin' hate that guy!"

"Finally, something to agree on." Washington stopped to crouch and check a partially washed away bootprint. It appeared to be like Spartan armor, but in a small size.

"So what _were_ you here for?" Tucker strolled right by, kicking mud over the footprint.

Washington stood, glaring death rays through his visor. "Nothing." He turned to face the ocean, reigning in his rage. "Let's just find your Blue sister and get out of here."

"I already told you man. Not my sister."

Washington nodded to the ancient alien structure inland. "Lets try the fortress first."

As the two Blues went to investigate the buildings, a faint and blearly voice called after them.

"Helloooo?" Caboose asked from the runner of the Hornet. "Still tied up here." The waves lapped around the bottom of the runner. "And thirsty..." His only reply were the waves below and gulls above. "Hello? Can I get a glass of water? Or a new tongue, with more...moistiness?" A roar from the ocean and a wave washed over the top of his helmet. "Ahhhh...Not thirsty anymore." He sighed contentedly. Until another wave washed over him, higher and stronger. "All done, tongue moist, and salted." The next breaker submerged the soldier "Really. Not thirsty." he sputtered. The next wave's undertow started pulling the hornet off the beach. "Bad water!" Caboose burbled, "You get down. Stop stealing my airplanes! "

As the water was closing over his visor, and Caboose, sputtering and coughing, was switching from berating the waves to praying to Church to save him, he saw yellow figure leaning over him. "Heya there."

Up at the fortress Tucker and Washington were scoping things out, but Tucker wasn't finding what he was looking for, and all Washington was finding was a new level of disgust and disdain for his new teammate.

Tucker stood at the prow of the fortress wall, surveying the entire island because it involved less walking than checking out the alien building's basement. "Well I don't see any hot chicks. Or any chicks at all." He turned to see Washington walking up from the flat platform that stretched beneath and behind the tower. "Or any corpses even."

Washington joined him on the bow like edge, "Yeah, the fort looks pretty abandoned. But these are the coordinates that your sister—"

"For the last time. Not. My. Sister."

Even Tucker could hear Washington clenching his teeth while he replied. "Okay, 'Sister', provided…lets sweep the—“

Tucker glanced in the direction of the beach. "Hey, you think we shoulda untied Caboose from the Hornet?"

"Why, seems safer…"

"Because I think the water is closer than it used to be."

"Oh Fuck! The tide!" Washington leapt from the bow, sprinting to the beach. Tucker watched him run for their landing point, interested, but not enough to down jump twenty feet. He turned to look for a different way off the fort.

By the time Washington reached the beach only the top of the Hornet's rotors were visible above water. His heart sank as he splashed frantically into the waves. "Caboose! Caboose! Fuck." The undertow of the next wave pulled the airship closer to the drop off.

He was about to dive underwater after the sinking plane when he heard sharp female voice calling from back on the beach. "Hey, be careful in the water! It can get pretty cold. You know... _Shrinkage._ "

"What, who sai—" He whirled around. The voices were coming from the direction of a blackish metallic...thing... that he could just barely see peeking over an outcropping of rocks.

"Agent! We're up here." This voice was Caboose's "We found a shade plane!"

"A what?" Agent waded back up onto the beach. When he'd gotten around the boulders on the beach he could see a couple figures, one blue one yellow, lounging inside the opened hold of a crashed Albatross drop ship. He slogged over, dripping water and fully intending to kill Caboose.

"Caboose, how did you…?" He trailed off staring at the figure laid out next to Caboose. She was encased head to toe in yellow armor. Well, almost head to toe.

She looked at Caboose, then nodded in the direction of Washington. "Oh hey, is this that new guy you were telling me about?"

Tucker radioed in, _"Hey! You guys find Sister? I'll be right over!"_

"Yes. This is Agent Washington. He is my new friend."

Sister scrutinized Washington suspiciously. "He sounds kinda familiar. Have we met?" She turned back to Caboose. "Hey, didn't you say his name was Church?"

"That is just his Alien name." Caboose explained.

"Caboose, it’s _alias._ " Tucker sauntered down the hill, sword out, ready for action.

"Oh, hey Tucker." Sister chirped.

"Awww... you're wearing your armor. Why are you-" he froze as Sister stood up with some effort and stretched, staring at the way the black under suit was pulled tight and lifted up around the hard, tanned, round baby belly that peeked out between the bottom of her chest plate and the top of her belt. "Awww… What the fuck?"

"What?" Sister turned to look behind herself.

"Um, Sis— Private…Private—look what is your name, miss?" Washington asked.

"Grif." Sister answered.

"Wait. Like that orange one? On Red Team?"

Sister nodded, then paused. "What's orange?"

"Yeah." Tucker said, "She's Grif's sister. Dude. As in sister. Didn't we explain that to you?"

"No!" Washington growled, "All you explained was that she wasn't _your_ sister." He turned to Sister. "Well, listen Private Grif…"

"Where is Grif?!" Caboose whirled around, looking behind him.

Washington tried to ignore him. "Look, Private..."

"What's private?" Caboose bumped into Washington leaning in to whisper. "Is this a _secret_ meeting?"

"Caboose." Washington spoke slowly, with a pause between each thought. "I know you are still a little concussed. But I am talking to Grif's sister. Private Grif. Not you. Do you understand?"

The blue soldier nodded in the affirmative. "Yes. You are Abbot Church. You are talking to Church's fat moon brother, Sister. And Tucker is sobbing in his helmet. About pirates."

Tucker sniffled. "Not…fuckin'…fair….and I _wasn't_ even in town that weekend. Fuck."

Inside his helmet Washington tried to unclench his jaw. "Look, Sister and Tucker and I need to have a little chat. One that I am almost certain you would not understand. So why don't you…" His eyes trailed up the beach. "Look for the pirate treasure."

"Okay!" Caboose agreed enthusiastically. As he jogged down the beach, he called back to them. "I'll get to it first! Then Tucker will not get any booty on this island!"

"Stop rubbing it in, asshole!"

With Caboose a safe distance away, Washington felt it was safe to continue his questioning. "Okay. Private Grif, we need to talk."

"Yeah? About what?"

"About what?" Washington was dumbfounded. "You're pregnant."

"Yeah, so?"

"So?" He snapped, exasperated, "This isn't something that happens every day!"

"What're you talking about?" Confused, Sister turned from one soldier to the other. "This has been happening to me every day for like…I don't know…eight months. That's like my longest streak ever."

"Wait…what?" Washington struggled to process Sister's explanation.

"Yeah, I mean, before was usually only a couple weeks a couple times a year."

"What…I don't….I don't even." Washington turned to Tucker. "I'm handing this over to you now. I'm guessing you have more experience."

"Hell yeah." Tucker stepped up to the plate. "Okay tramp, who's the daddy? Cause it sure as hell isn't me." He paused. "Unless… you don't have like…a toddler hiding in that base somewhere?"

"Tucker. On subject." Washington growled.

"Right. But this one here, definitely not mine! So spill it slut, who knocked you up?"

"Well, at first I didn't really know," Sister explained. "'Cuz I mean…who can remember a thing like who you've slept with in the last two months?"

Tucker nodded. "Tell me about it."

"What. The. Hell." Washington took a step away from the pair.

Sister continued. "But then that Mexican guy, he seemed to know when he found out. So he called Doc."

"Wait, Doc got you pregnant?" Tucker asked, "That fuckin' pedophile."

"Shut up Tucker!" Washington snapped, "Also, she's in the Army, so she has to be at least-"

Sister shook her head. "Naw, wasn't him, Lopez just wanted him to run some tests. Something about needing 'irrefutable proof'. Also, you know, wanted to make sure I hadn't been contagious in the last year and check for Feudal Asshole Syndrome.''

Washington paused. "Do you mean Fetal Alcohol Syndrome?"

"Whatever. Anyway they brought me here, said stuff about it being their old base. And Doc ran a bunch of tests. And he said that..."

Down the beach, Caboose was completely absorbed in his treasure hunt. He walked a few steps, then crouched, then walked, then crouched, searching every tide pool and rocky nook.

"Looking for X'es, X'es,….X'es…" He reminded himself, "Or plus signs. Hmm…what about little T's?"

Caboose stood and looked back when Washington shouted, loud enough for Caboose to hear several hundred yards down the beach.

"What. The. Hell."

"Oh man!" Tucker exclaimed, "Oh man! You gotta let me be the one to call them."

X X X

Sarge liked to think of himself as stubborn; someone who wouldn't give up easily, even in the face of multiple failures, even if most of those failures were Grif. But the wall separating his team from Valhalla was proving more stubborn, and had finally worn through even Sarge's tolerance for failure. Sarge looked over the twisted heap of vehicular remains, and sighed. "Well I give up." He turned to Simmons, who was standing at his right. "Watching Grif crash into the wall with the Motorcycle…"

"And then the Alien Motorcycle." Simmons reminded.

"Yeah, and that too! Was a lot of fun. But now I'm out of parts to fix the vehicles."

Simmons looked over the twisted heap that remained of Grif, and sighed. "That might be for the best. I think Grif was running out of bones."

"Ohhh God," Grif moaned, curling into the dirt "Why?"

Sarge turned to look again at the top of the hillock. "So I guess we're going to have to go to plan B."

Simmons hesitated. "I would ask if Plan B was walking, but I'm guessing—"

"Which is simply to load Grif down with our remaining grenades and start flinging him at the wall at a high velocity." Sarge gripped his shotgun in determination. "I'm drawing up plans for the revised GrifCannon. I'm calling it the Trebu-shoot-Grif; also known as the Turd Flinger."

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

"I hate you all…." Grif sobbed.

Before Sarge insult Grif, his radio crackled to life. Hissing through interference. _"Red Team, come in Red Team."_

"Hey Sarge, I'm getting something on our long range radios." Simmons tried to tune into the signal better.

_"Red Team, come in, this is Washington."_

"Dammit!" Sarge groused "They're probably calling to gloat that they're over at our base touching our equipment, infecting it with their malignant Blue presence."

"We read you Agent Washington." Simmons replied over the radio.

_"Yeah, we tried to get you at your Red Base, but no one answered. Bet you're wondering why we're not back yet?"_

"Uhh…yeah….of course" Simmons stammered "….we've been over at your base. Stealing your stuff and uh…"

_"Yeah, look I don't really have time for this. I kind of need to talk to Sarge, privately."_

"Listen Agent Washington," Sarge barked "We may have helped you take down that Meta fella, but don't think we're now all chummy-chummy, I haven't forgotten what you really are…”

_"Look if this is about Donut and Lop—"_

"You're a dirty Blue!" Sarge accused, "And not just any kind of Blue: a dirty, Freelancer, Blue. The worst possible kind! So whatever you need to say to me, you can say in front of my men."

_"Private Grif is pregnant and you're the father."_

"What?" Grif yelped from the ground.

Sarge froze completely, from helmet to boots, for an entire second. "What's that now?"

"Before I pass out again." Grif moaned, "Just wanted to add. No. Fuckin'. Way."

"Sarge?" Simmons asked. But his commander didn't reply.

_"Sarge?"_ Washington sounded concerned. Sarge looked around him peering up to the tops of the walls.

"Is this one of those candid camera things?" He asked, scrutinizing his teammates.

_"Okay. Maybe I needed to be a little more specific. Are you sitting down?"_


	4. Refuge in Audacity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caboose confronts Washington with his booty.

Under the shelter of the shade plane, things were getting tense. Caboose had gotten his foot stuck in his mouth again. Luckily for him, this _time_ it was metaphorically. And now he was terrified. "Sister," he said, "I am very sorry for calling you fat."

"Damn right you are." She snapped, arms crossed above her belly.

"It's not my fault that some people," he turned toward a lounging cyan comrade and grumbled, "People like _Tucker_ , don't tell some people important things, like that being pregnant makes you fat." he paused "And angry." he looked down "And barefoot."

"Uh, huh." She said, and Caboose could still feel her glaring.

"And scary." he added. "I guess, I mean, Tucker didn't get fat… he just ate all our food, and yelled at us, and then threw up." Caboose gazed at the ocean, remembering. "That _was_ pretty scary."

Sister's relaxed. "Oh…well I was doing that like…five months ago. But I'm mostly over it now." She paused. "I mean the throwing up part."

"Yeah." Caboose leaned in, encouraged by the spirit of conversation. "So, where is your sword?"

"What?" Sister asked.

"Yeah. Is it really shiny? Do you let other people touch it?" Caboose was getting excited. "Or do you keep it all too yourself? Like _some_ people."

"Uhhh…"

"People like _Tucker_." Caboose hissed. "Oh, and did your alien die too? Our alien died!"

"Uhh… Is Sergeant an alien?" Sister seemed nervous.

"Also, do you have any orange juice? I need to start drinking orange juice right away."

"Naw. They wouldn't give me any orange juice," Sister replied, "Or rubbing alcohol. Lame."

Caboose spotted Washington walking toward the crashed Albatross. The Blue ran toward his teammate, looking for all the world like an excited puppy running to his master. If the puppy had an assault rifle, and brain damage.

"Agent Washington! You're back!" Caboose stopped right in front of him, radiating intensity. "Good. I need your orange juice."

Washington sighed. "Why do you need orange juice?"

Caboose scoffed at the question. "Well _duh_ , so I can feed the baby!"

"What?"

"Yes. I am very good at feeding babies. But I need lots or orange juice first." Caboose explained. "Or I fall down."

Washington looked from Sister to Caboose, making a mental note that it was dangerous to let them have unsupervised conversations. "Okay. First. I don't have any orange juice. Second, I don't think that babies like to drink orange…"

"Not for the baby! For me." Caboose spoke slowly, so that Washington would understand. "Orange juice turns into blood, and babies love blood, and I have blood, and I hate babies." He waited for a response. "Don't you see?"

Washington stared. "No. No I don't think I do."

"Well, I know these things." Caboose huffed, "I have a lot of experience with babies."

Sister whispered to Tucker. "Hey, shouldn't you tell Abbot about your alien dog kid? I think he's getting confused."

Tucker rocked back on his heels so he could take in the conversation. "I think they both are. This is freakin' hilarious."

"Look." With one snapped word Washington dismissed previous minute of his life. "We need to get off this island. The Hornet is probably whale chow by now, but I don't really trust the teleporters for Private Grif in her condition, not if Omega and Wyoming were using this fort. I'm going to see what I can do to get the dropship on the beach functional." he looked at Sister. "You said Lopez and Doc left some supplies at the fort?"

"Yeah." Sister shrugged. "Like, a dozen crates of supplies, and not one nail file in the whole damn thing."

"Right." Washington turned to walk in the direction of the fort. "It's probably hoping for too much that there will be tools in those crates."

"Wait! Church!" Caboose called after him.

Washington sighed. "I'm not Church."

"Washingchurch!" Caboose amended. "I want to help."

"No." Washington was firm. "You stay here with Sister. Talk to _her_ about your crazy vampire babies." Caboose shuffled back to the Albatross, crestfallen. But before Washington could get much further, a different mentally challenge teammate stopped him.

"Heya Wait!" Sister trotted over to him surprisingly fast for how unwieldy she looked. She glanced back to Tucker and Caboose, then turned to Washington and asked in a low voice, "Uh new guy, did you talk to Sergeant? And my brother?"

"Yes. I did."

"And, uh, how did they take it?" She asked, nervously.

"Oh, about as well as I expected." he answered before he walked away. Sister watched him leave, pondering to herself.

"I know I know him from somewhere…" she murmured.

X X X

Three soldiers stood around the wrecked and ruined remains of several broken vehicles, staring at each other in a complete loss for words. Finally, Simmons cocked his head from one side, where a mute and unmoving Sarge was standing, to the other, where a Grif, swaying slightly, was silent.

"Soo…" He started hesitantly, but the word trailed off back into the silence, where only the chirping of birds and that faint moaning from the other side of the wall, could be heard.

"Um…that's pretty crazy…what that Washington guy said. Heh." Simmons laughed. "I mean at first I was really scared because I almost thought he meant—" Both Grif and Sarge slowly turned their heads to stare at their teammate. "Heh."

In the silence they could faintly hear a voice coming up the hill from the direction of Valhalla, "Owwwwwwwie."

"But you know. Nice to hear that your Sister isn't dead. Right Grif?" Simmons waited expectantly for an answer.

Simmons coughed. "And uh, hey Sarge… congratulations! For… you know… getting Grif's sister pregnant."

"Bullshit." Grif finally barked. "Bull. Shit."

"Oh thank God!" Simmons gasped at the finally broken silence.

"For once I agree completely and totally with Grif." Sarge said, springing back to life, "Without reservation. That dang Blue was talking a load on nonsense."

"Exactly." Grif agreed.

"But. He said your sister is alive." Simmons reminded them.

"Oh that I would believe." Grif replied, "And pregnant, sure! For her that's like a byproduct of being alive. But never, in a million years, did Sarge knock her up."

Sarge nodded. "That would be an impossibility. Grif's sister is a Blue. And a Grif."

Grif sounded almost elated. "Yeah, and we all know how much Sarge hates Blues, and Grifs. No way in a hundred thousand years he got her pregnant."

"Glad we finally found something to agree upon Private." Sarge barked.

"Thank you Sarge," Grif said, "For once I can say, without a hint of sarcasm, that it is a pleasure."

Simmons decided that it might be dangerous to press his teammates on the issue. "Okay, willful denial aside, what are we going to do about Agent Washington's message?"

Sarge answered without a second thought. "Well, we go meet him of course! Obviously this is some nefarious Blue Plot."

"Don't forget he was a freelancer too, sir!" Grif chimed in, "We _never_ should trust them!"

"So we go and walk right into his trap, and spring it! Using our superior knowledge of human biology to thwart whatever kind of twisted blackmail he has planned."

Simmons looked up the hill. "And we're walking there?"

Sarge gazed mournfully at the broken vehicles. "Yes." He sighed. "So let's start hoofing it."

"Oh! Oh! Sarge!" Grif said, as the team made their way through the trees, "I just thought of something. Once we find the Blues! We can take _their_ vehicle."

"Good thinking Private! You're really on a roll today."

The team was nothing more than fait voices and warm colored dots in the distace when a plaintive wail wafted over the wall, coming from the Direction of Valhalla. "Ow….Sarge….is that you?….so much…red…"

X X X

For once, things were going more in Washington's favor. He had managed break into the cockpit of the Albatross dropship, and a quick diagnostic had reported the ship in far better shape than Washington had dared to hope. It hadn't really even crashed, just landed a bit unconventionally. Now Washington was attempting to pry the access panels off one of the propulsion systems to do a quick realignment.

He should be happy. Heck, given how he had just lucked out with the ship he should be ecstatic. Unfortunately for the newly recruited Blue, this wasn't the case. Because as good as things were going, he still had to deal with morons.

" _I mean I can't believe you left me behind!_ " The voice on Washington's radio was whining in a self-satisfied way. Washington was grateful that the speaker was hundreds of miles away, because he had long ago reached his quota for rage kills.

"Listen Doc," he focused on keeping calm. "How many times to do I have to tell you 'I'm sorry'?"

" _After everything I did for you._ "

"I'm _sorry_. That's ten apologies in two minutes, so back on subject. Since we've found you and Lopez's little secret side project, we're taking her back to our base. We need you to meet us back at Valhalla. Can you get there?"

Washington heard a sigh on the other end. " _Yeah. Okay. Have you told the Reds?_ "

"Yes, they're meeting us at the Power Station."

" _You mean O'Malley's old fortress?_ "

Washington gritted his teeth. "Zanzibar, the beach, whatever. They're the ones who suggested it. Something about familiar neutral territory, but I think they're just trying to bum a ride back to base."

" _Wash, whatever you do, make sure Sister brings along the test results. Lopez seemed to think those were very important._ "

"Sure." Washington had managed to realign some thrusters, but didn't want any more annoying conversation to distract him. "Look, I gotta let you go, see you at Valhalla."

" _Okay. And Wash?_ "

"Yeah?" He reached down to the pile of scrounged tools for a wrench and spanner.

" _One more 'I'm sorry'?_ "

"Doc." Washington growled, but he'd already learned that the medic had the fearlessness only profound stupidity could bestow.

" _Come on, just one more._ "

"Okay." Washington's voice was flat. "I'm sorry." There was pure hatred dripping from every syllable.

" _Yes! Never going to get old._ "

Washington sighed, wishing that there was some way to hang up a radio with more force and disgust than the simple click of powering off. He surveyed his work on the propulsion system, then leaned down next to the jet vent and reached into the toolkit. Tucker wandered over and surveyed the work critically. After ten minutes of watching tightening bolts and twisting nuts and not offering to help, Washington turned to face him.

"You gonna help me, or are you just going to stand there?"

"Help you?" Tucker scoffed. "Are you kidding? _Caboose_ has more experience with this kind of crap than I do. His girlfriend was a spaceship for a while."

Washington sighed and turned back to his work. "So why don't you go bother Sister? Your desire to hit on her was whole reason we had to come on this wild goose chase."

Tucker slipped into conversation easily, like he was used to talking at length to people who hated him about things they didn't care about. "Look. I admit. Pregnant or not, I was kinda still planning on hitting on her. You know? Cause she's still hot. In that round, earth mother kinda way. You know what I mean?"

"Please shut up."

"But she's knocked up with _Sarge's_ kid." Tucker said, "I can't have sex with that. It'd be like…I don't know…like Sarge was watching us."

"Tucker. Shut up." Washinton had stood, but was frozen facing the ship.

"Actually, you know what, fuck it. I don't care if Sarge's little bastard is watching us, it might actually be kind of—"

Washington turned around, and walked right up to Tucker's face. "Look. Private Tucker. We've really only just met, so you might not know me very well…"

Tucker laughed. "You're joking? Caboose can't shut up about you! He told me all…"

Washington continued, his voice steady, low, and pressing the edge between calm, and rage. "But if we're going to be teammates, I think it's important that we set some ground rules."

"I don't know man. Rules? I'm a born rebel."

"Okay, how about we just compromise? You stop telling me disgusting things that I don't want to hear, and I won't suffer a psychotic break and kill you."

There was a pause. And Tucker was actually quiet for a blissful minute. "You know." He said, slowly, "Caboose told me that you were scary. I didn't really see it, until right now."

"Now that we've got that settled." Wash turned back to his work. Tucker still stood watching, too bored to leave the deadly, and on edge, wanted criminal alone. He fiddled with his sword, listening to the clicking of the wrench and the sound of the waves.

"You really think you're gonna be able to fix this thing?" He asked.

"No. I think I just _finished_ fixing it." Washington turned back to Tucker, and then nodded toward the crates piled up on the shore. "You start loading Sister's things onto the ship. I'll find Caboose. Sooner we get off this island the better." The cobalt and yellow soldier shouldered his battle rifle and paced deliberately toward the fortress.

Tucker watched him go. "Man," he mumbled. "And I thought Church was a douche."

XXX

After checking the fortress, and combing the beach, Washington finally found Caboose crouched in the dirt near in the fortress, staring fixedly at a spot on the ground.

"Caboose!" He called, "We're ready to head out!"

Caboose was too intent on the thing on the ground to pay attention. Washington came up right beside him. "Caboose! We're leaving!" he barked.

"Church."

"I'm not Church." Washington corrected robotically.

"New Church, do you know what booty looks like?"

Washington was suddenly wary. "Uh, Caboose? What did you find?" Caboose just stood up and handed Washington something small and square. Washington looked down at the object in his hand.

"Is _that_ booty?"

It was a lighter. The metal box, butane kind, refillable. Washington scraped away some of the char from the side revealing circular red logo and the word Errera. He didn't know the whole story behind this lighter, why it had been important to the people who had traded it back and forth, but he had seen in before, and he knew who it had belonged to.

"No Caboose it's a lighter." Washington was frozen looking at the broken debris in his hand.

"Oh." Caboose waited, watching, but Washington seemed lost in his thoughts. "Are lighters sad?"

"Not usually."

Somewhere in his head a few thoughts managed to connect almost correctly. "Is _this_ lighter sad?" Caboose asked, in way that he probably thought was subtle.

"It belonged to an old friend of mine."

"You have friends?!" Caboose exclaimed.

"He's dead."

"Oh." Caboose leaned in conspiratorially, "Did _you_ kill him? If you did you can tell me. I know all about what happens when you accidently kill your friends and it's no one's fault."

"No. I didn't kill him. Wyoming killed him, here. I just…" Washington trailed off, visor downcast, looking at the object in his hands, Carolina's lighter...York's lighter. "I just remotely detonated his armor, with his body still in it." He finished sheepishly, "Remember, um… like Agent South Dakota?"

"Oh." Caboose tilted his head, thoughtfully. Well maybe not thought- _full_ -y, Washington decided. Kinda thoughty, though. "That's too bad…I'm sure you were really, really, sad when you had to make your dead friend explode."

"No. I wasn't," Washinton replied, and there was a hint of sadness in his voice behind the flat affect. "I guess, back then, I didn't think that I had time to be."

"Oh. Well, plenty of time now!" Caboose reassured.

"Great." Washington mumbled.

X X X


	5. All in the Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simmons makes up animals.

The Red Team trudged through the rocky, sun-bleached landscape dotted with the remains of a fort. Whatever the base had been here for, it had long ago been abandoned, as the huge holes blasted into the bunkers and defense walls attested. The sight of military structures had momentarily lifted their spirits, but they'd found neither Warthogs nor Pumas, not even a Chupathingy. And now, heavy-hearted and empty stomached, they continued on their way to the power station.

Simmons walked beside his CO. "Listen, Sarge."

"Yes, Private Simmons?"

"Do you have a minute to talk?"

"A minute? Sure!"

Simmons dropped his voice. "I really don't want to pry into your private matters, but..."

"I allot to each of my soldiers exactly five minutes of awkward conversation a year!"

Simmons had long ago learned to keep his train of thought going, no matter how his teammates tried to derail it. "Okay. I'm just saying, I just realize that you were alone in that canyon for a long time..."

"Alone? I had Lopez with me."

"Yes I know I'm just wondering if after-

Sarge was lost in a recollection. "Of course _he_ used up his five minutes almost instantly. Lot of awkward silences after that. "

Simmons started his thought again. "Look, you and Sister were alone for a long time in Blood Gulch. I just wanted to make sure that you…"

Sarge stopped dead in his tracks. "Simmons! Are you accusing a superior officer of fraternizing with the enemy?"

Simmons stammered. "Uh yes?...no…I mean maybe?"

"Simmons, I thought you were a man of science," Sarge shook his head at his right hand man's stupidity. "Think logically. She's a Blue; I'm a Red. She was on one side of the canyon; I was on the other. So how on God's Red earth could I have gotten her pregnant?" That settled, Sarge marched on.

"Excellent point, sir." Simmons sighed, "Where's Grif?" He turned to look behind him. After a minute of waiting an orange figure crested a hill a good fifty meters behind, panting and muttering. Simmons started back to Grif.

"By the way." Sarge called after him, "You only have two minutes, thirty six seconds of awkward conversation left."

Grif was huffing and puffing by the time Simmons had backtracked to him. The maroon soldier watched his teammate staggering along before falling into step behind him.

"Seriously?" Simmons said, "We're just _walking_."

"If you walked... _huff_...all the way back here... _pant_...just to bitch at me..."

"Oh shut up. I wanted to talk to you about Sarge."

"Isn't it enough that I have to live with him? Now _we_ have to talk about him too? Doesn't he ruin enough hours of my day when _he's_ talking to me?"

Simmons ignored Grif's complaint. "I'd like to think to think I know Sarge pretty well by now."

Grif snorted. "Yeah, that's what happens when you spend every waking moment of your life kissing someone's ass...you get to know them..."

"And I'm not sure that he would even _know_ if he had slept with your Sister. Not if she was out of her armor, or..."

Stopping where he was, Grif stared down his teammate. "What are you trying to say?"

"What I'm trying to say is, I know Sarge... and I can't say that there's no way he slept with your sister. Since you know your sister..."

"Debatable." Grif protested.

"Can _you_ say that there's no way she slept with Sarge?"

Grif was firm, confident. "Yes. I can say it. There's no way she slept with Sarge. Because if she had, I'm pretty sure that we'd know.

"How?"

"Boiling oceans, the moon turning to blood, Donut hosting the Icecapades in Hell. The fabric of the universe collapsing in on itself. Trust me, it would be pretty obvious." That settled Grif continued on, leaving poor Simmons watching his two teammates marching to the tune of denial.

Simmons sighed. "Well I'm ‘O’ for two on reasonable discussions today."

X X X

The Albatross drop ship had handled like its namesake; unwieldy, clumsy, hard to take off, hard to land, and really only capable of coasting across the ocean. It wasn't until they were safely on the beaches of Zanzibar, and he had pulled his strained and sore hands from the controls that he'd been clutching, that Washington finally stopped praying under his breath. He reminded himself that he wasn't the religious type, negating the deals he'd promised with deities, demons and celebrities over the course of the fight. Sliding down from the Cockpit he made his way to the cargo section, where the rest of the freak parade was riding. He lowered the main hatches, exposing the cargo bay.

"Okay. We're here." His teammates weren't listening. Caboose and Sister were staring at Tucker, who had one hand up to his ear and was pacing the bulkhead.

"Listen you stupid blarg, I don't give a honk what time it is there, you put him on."

Washington gestured to Tucker. "Who is he talking to?"

"His dog." Sister answered.

"Actually it's his dog's uncle." Caboose corrected. "I mean his kid. I mean his dog-kid...'s uncle."

Tucker was in full on gripe mode. "Yeah, I know I missed last week. I was kinda honking busy. Ya blarg me? Saving the whole honk-damn universe. Again."

"Is he talking to an alien?" Washington asked.

Caboose nodded. "Yes. Uncle Alien has been taking care of Tucker's baby while Tucker was in the desert. Tucker sends Uncle money. And, they hate each other." Caboose sighed wistfully. "It's the ideal relationship."

Tucker whispered over to his team. "Hey, can you guys keep it down? I'm kinda on the phone here?" Then his voice took a different tone, and he was obviously talking on to whoever was on the other end. "Heya champ! How's daddy's little ankle biter? Uh huh….really…."

Washington motioned Sister and Caboose out of the back of the ship and onto the beach. "You know. I would ask for an explanation….but-"

Caboose ignored the 'but', in favor of giving an explanation. "Tucker was impregnated by an alien on a quest to free his entire race using a sword key to open the garage for a spaceship. I was there. It was really fun. But then he died. The Alien I mean. Have you ever met an Alien?

"Yes." Washington had actually met several aliens. Not that long ago. At a desert temple.

"We're they friendly? But not _too_ friendly..."

"Um. No." They hadn't exactly been hostile either. But they had been annoying. And insulting. And Washington had been in a particularly bad mood. And now the Aliens were dead.

"Well, Then Uncle Alien came and woke up the Daisy man." Caboose was continuing his story. "And then he got Junior and the key-sword and they all flew away in Shelia. And then Tucker flew away to find them and looked for them and found them. And now they go around finding shapes that the other aliens worship. And Junior is going to be their savior. Like space Jesus."

Washington took a moment to process the details, and carefully filtered out likely facts from complete insanity. "Wow…I think I actually understood, almost half of that." He turned to Sister. "What about you?"

She was fiddling with her superfluous pistol and watching the ocean. "Uhhhh..."

"You were there!" Caboose said.

"Yeah, but I _was_ pretty stoned."

"Yeah." Washington couldn't tell if Caboose was agreeing with Sister, or had retreated back to his own world. "I think it would make a good movie. You know, if Tucker wasn't in it. " He turned to Washington. " Maybe you could play Tucker."

Tucker's voice took a shrill turn, breaking into their conversation. "He did what? Oh you put that honky bastard on right now! Uhhuh, see you soon. Daddy loves you and all that blarg, now hand him the phone. Yeah? You there? ...Listen you blarging asshole. We talked about this 'savior of our race' bullshit... I don't care, you're not raising my kid to be some religious nutjob. ...You keep feeding him that blarg and I'll come over there and shove your honk so far up your blarghole you'll be honking your blarg every time you honk honk. Got it?" The entire group could hear a honk on the other end, and judging from Tucker's response it seemed to be a grudging, and foul mouthed, assent. Radio conversation over, Tucker finally exited the ship.

"Sorry about that, guys. Family stuff."

Caboose looked at the sea wall, the top of the windmill and the roofs of the outbuildings visible above the stone ruins. "Do you think we beat them here?"

Washington started to the wall, "We won't know until we check the facility." he said. Tucker followed him up the stairs, but Caboose and Sister hung back on the beach.

"Whew, that was one bumpy plane ride." Sister said.

"Yeah."

"Sorry about that whole...helmet thing. There weren't any barf bags and..."

"Yeah."

"You know...you could have washed the helmet out, before you put it back on."

Caboose thought about it. "Yeah."

XXXXX

It turned out that the Blues _hadn't_ beaten the Reds to the rendezvous. They found the three bickering and road-weary soldiers resting inside the power station's generator room. They seemed to be deep in discussion about 'blackmail', but clammed up the when they noticed Blues had arrived with Grif's Sister in tow.

For one second, so brief that only Simmons saw it, Grif was all relief and joy. For the first time Simmons suspected that beneath Grif's loud denials of his sister's demise was a nervous doubt he hadn't let himself feel until this very moment. Grif actually ran to meet his sibling.

"Sis!"

"Grif!" Sister squealed and wrapped her brother in a hug. And then Grif brushed her off.

"Okay. Enough with the sappy sappy. Why the fuck didn't you call me?"

"I didn't have your number."

"Lame excuse."

"Well why didn't you call me?" Sister asked.

"We thought you were dead." Simmons edged in, now that the reunion seemed resolved.

"Well I _wasn't_."

Grif snorted. "Obviously. And what the hell is up with this?" He gestured to her pregnant belly. "Did you lose your punchcard again?'

"Naw, I found it. Then that Mexican took it."

"Really, why?" Simmons asked.

"Well it wasn't to use it himself." Grif said.

"Then they kept moving me around, and having that Doc guy run tests. It got really annoying. I was stuck on that stupid island for months." Sister complained. "And they didn't even have cable."

"Lopez put you there?" Simmons was trying to puzzle out the chain of events.

"Yeah, he would come by every week. He was always radioing me, asking me dumb questions. 'Am I eating?' 'Am I sleeping?' 'Do I know that Doritos aren't vegetables?'"

Caboose whispered to Washington. "I remember that test."

"Caboose!" Washington hushed him.

"I got a C."

"Why was he doing that?" Simmons asked Sister.

Sister turned to where Sarge was standing by the stairs to the upper level, away from the group. He was silent, unreadable. "Umm…for _you_ , I think." There was an awkward silence. "Hi Sergeant." She said, shyly.

"Hmpf." He muttered.

"Lopez thought _Sarge_ got you pregnant?" Grif laughed. "Fuck that."

"Um. How long have you been... you know?" Simmons gestured to her stomach, nervously.

"Like eight months, I think."

"That's your longest streak ever!" Grif said.

"I know!"

A shrill edge in Simmons voice hinted at anxiety. "Wait is that like, eight months that you've known you were pregnant, or eight months pregnant?"

Sister's brain couldn't process the question. "What?"

Simmons slipped into full- on panic. "Fuck! You mean, that you could have this baby any day? Right now? Right here?"

Grif sighed. "Don't be stupid, Simmons, my sister's not having a baby. She's just pregnant. Trust me, she does this all the time, totally diff—" Simmons grabbed Grif's hand and put it on his sister's belly. Grif froze and then yelped. "Holy shit! The little bastard kicked me!"

Tucker whispered to Washington. "Signs of things to come?"

Grif stared at his pregnant sister like he was seeing her for the first time. "Holy shit!" He gasped, "There's a baby in there!"

"Yeah I know." Sister said.

"Like a real baby!"

"Yeah. I know." Sister said.

Grif paused, as he slowly understood. "Holy shit! _You're_ going to have a baby!"

"Yeah." Sister said, "I _know_."

Grif glanced around at his teammates then sidled next to his sister, and mumbled in a low voice. "Do you…do you have like, a buyer lined up? Some kind of E-Baby listing to get rid of it?"

"What?" Sister said, "No. Lopez said I had to keep it."

"Well, then…" Grif trailed off thinking. Finally. "What the fuck?"

"What do you mean?" Sister asked.

"What the hell are you…Have you thought this through at _all_?"

"Uhhh….."

"Un-Fucking-Believable." Grif was getting louder. "So you don't have like, any idea, what you're going to do with it?"

"Why are you yelling at me?" Sister whined.

"You're doing this just to spite me, aren't you? This isn't like the time you replaced my meds with LSD, Sis. This is _serious_."

"Hey, Grif, take it easy." Washington tried to cut in; but he was ignored.

"Now you just expect me to take care of everything, like you always have." Grif raged, "I swear, it's just like we're still fuckin' kids." He mimicked in a singsong voice, "I'm hungry, Grif! Mom locked me out again, Grif! The sign at the Wal-Mart didn't say 'no pants no service', so what's the cop so pissed about, Grif!"

Sister was looking down, frozen.

"Grif. Really." Washington warned.

"Why do I always have to take care of your problems?" Grif asked her.

"Hey, asshole!" Sister shrieked right in his face, her helmet nearly knocking against his. "If you always did such a good job taking care of me, why'd you leave me all alone in that canyon for a year? Huh?" She sounded tearful now, "You always yell at me! And you always leave me behind! And you don't understand!" She ran from the room sobbing in her helmet. The six men stared after her in silence.

"Great job there Grif." Washington said, "I can see you're just full of brotherly wisdom."

"Eh," Tucker shrugged, "It's probably just the hormones talking. Trust me."

Washington turned to the Red Leader. "Sarge, you've been remarkably quiet through this."

"It's none of my business."

"None of your business?" Washington said, "You're the father."

Sarge grunted. "Hmpf, likely story… _Blue_."

"You are! I told you so!"

"Right, well I for one want a paternity test." Grif said.

Washington pulled out a datapad. "Right here. Lopez had Doc put together a whole medical file." He handed it to Grif. Sarge approached to peer over Grif's shoulder.

"Still don't believe it." Grif protested.

Washington clicked on an attachment on the screen. "Amniocentesis."

"Nope."

"Choronic Villis sampling."

"Nope."

"The complete sequenced genome of Sarge, Sister, _and_ the fetus."

Grif remained unconvinced. "Look, that Doc guy, he's a moron"

"Signed affidavit of three UNSC forensic scientists verifying the results."

"Still…"

"Signed in _blood_."

Grif handed the datapad to Sarge so he could wag a finger at Washington. "Look. I don't care how many stupid test they ran. Sarge _didn't_ get my sister pregnant."

Sarge nodded. "Right."

"Because Sarge _didn't_ have sex with my sister."

"SA— _ahh-hhuh-uh_..." Sarge was overtaken with a fit of coughing. Everyone turned to stare at him.

"Sarge." Simmons asked, tentatively. "You…you had sex with Grif's sister?"

Sarge fiddled with the datapad, embarrassed. "Ahuhhhh. Listen, I said that I couldn't have gotten her pregnant."

"Right." There was an edge of desperation in Grif's voice. "Because you didn't have sex with her.'

"No, because she's a Blue! Blues and Reds can't interbreed! They're separate distinct species; different genus on the Taxowhatnit tree. It would be like bears and wolves, or tiger and lions. Goes against nature." The group continued to stare at Sarge.

"Lions and tigers _can_ crossbreed." Simmons said, "It's called a liger."

Sarge glared through is visor at Simmons. "You're makin' that up."

Grif was patently desperate now. "Sarge. Look, I've never asked you for anything before in my life."

Simmons snorted. "What are you talking about? You've asked him for..."

"Anything that I actually thought you would _do_. But I need you to tell me one thing. Tell me the truth. Tell me you did not sleep with my sister."

Sarge was dead quiet. Looking down at the datapad of paternity information.

"You fucked my sister!" Grif shrieked.

"Private Grif, calm down!" Washington stepped between them.

"Don't tell me to calm down! What do you know about it? You're new here!"

Tucker sighed. "Okay, let's be fair here. Raise your hand if you haven't fucked Grif's sister."

Washington backed away from the group. "You know what? You're right…I don't think I want to be a part of this conversation." He walked out of the building. Quickly.

Tucker looked around the remaining men. "Show of hands, anyone?"

"Tucker, I'm going to kill you." Grif's voice was ice and daggers.

"Really? You're _surprised_? Your sister's hot, and I'm cool. We're _opposites_. And you know what they say: 'Opposites Fuck.'"

Grif turned to the maroon teammate at his side. The one who _also_ had not raised his hand. "Simmons?"

Simmons coughed. "She's a really nice girl." He squeaked.

Grif was outraged. "Simmons!"

"What?" He snapped "What the hell do you want from me? We'd been stuck in that canyon for like, three years. Any longer and I would have fucked my own sister."

The Tucker, Simmons, Grif, and Sarge all turned to look at the last person who hadn't raised his hands. He was staring in the direction Washington had gone. He almost looked lost in thought.

"Wait….Caboose?" In his shock Grif had lost his outrage.

"Hmmm." Caboose said softly "I think I see someone outside."

From outside there was a shrill scream, then the sound of beam rifles and plasma pistols firing all at once.


	6. Blarg Boys II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Extremely minor characters reappear.

It's true Washington had left the heated debate going on in the generator room mostly because listening to six grown men argue about how many times some of them they had slept with a woman they _all_ insisted on calling 'Sister' was uncomfortable in ways he couldn't even begin to describe. But he had an ulterior motive for ducking out when he did. Leaving the pregnant and distraught, crazy and stupid, Private Grif to roam the power station unsupervised didn't seem like the best idea. Something about the location was making the former freelancer very uneasy.

Washington checked the outbuildings on either side of the massive round windmill, but both of the buildings were empty. He checked around trees and rocks, in every nook and cranny of the factory complex's front yard, but Washington hadn't spotted Sister yet, and he was starting to get concerned. He didn't want her wandering far in her current mental state. He crossed through the fan's blades and made his way under the double archway of the castle-like fortification that separated the factory from the beach. He looked to his left, but there was no one; nothing but rocks, palm trees, and sand.

To his right, beyond the broken vault of the masonry arch that divided the beach in half, he saw Sister. She was standing among the boulders, near where they had landed the Albatross, watching the ocean and sniffling. If he hadn't known her, he would have said there was something almost saintly about her sadness, framed by ruins.

He was trying to decide whether to approach her when his ears perked up, his body tensed, and he ducked instinctively. A crisp _buzzaaht_ burned through the air, and the blast from a beam rifle whizzed past his head, drilling a smoking divot of melting glass into the sand beyond him.

"Shit!" He dove for the rocks and trees to his left. The closest available cover. "Private Grif! Get down!"

The yellow armored soldier screamed as the pinkish barb from an alien weapon ricocheted off the rocks beside her. She crouched clumsily behind the boulders. "What the hell!?"

Washington opened a radio channel to Sister. "Private Grif, we have hostiles on the wall. Stay where you are! Stay under cover. I repeat. Do not move." On the gallery above the seawall's archway there were three, maybe four shadowy, inhuman figures looking out from the windows, firing down on them and shouting out with unmistakable blargs and honks.

" _What does it look like I'm doing?_ " she shrieked, still ducked behind rocks.

"Private Grif, are you okay?" Washington radioed.

" _Am I okay?_ " She was nearly hyperventilating. " _Do I sound like I'm okay?_ "

"Stay where you are!"

" _Yeah, you said that already! Where the hell am I going to go?_ "

"Just stay there!"

" _Why are they attacking us?_ "

"I don't..." Washington trailed off as one of the snipers ducked out of cover just long enough to be fully visible. Beady blue lights glimmered from the slit eye-pieces of the ovoid helmet. They were staring right at Washington with murderous intent. The alien in the scarred and dinged lavender armor pointed to the former freelancer and cried out in a wordless and honkless rage.

"Son of a bitch." Washington groaned.

X X X

Simmons craned his head around the edge of the doorway, peering across the courtyard until the bzawt of a beam rifle had him ducking for cover in the generator room's entry way. "Ohhh this is not good." Tucker and Grif were looking past him. Sarge was pacing the floor, datapad of paternity information still in hand.

"No shit, Sherlock." Grif loaded his battle rifle with what little ammo he had remembered to bring. "What gave it away? The crowd of aliens on the wall shooting at us? Or the fact that we're cut off from my Sister, and the spaceship, and the only asshole here who can fight worth a darn?"

"Hey I take offense to that!" Tucker protested. "Not only am I badass and sexy, but I can speak alien!"

Sarge stopped his pacing back and forth to stare at Tucker. "So, go out there and get negotiatin', Blue!"

Tucker backed away from the door. "Fuuck no, I'm not going out there."

Sarge raised his shotgun and pointed it squarely at Tucker's head. "I'm sorry. Did you think that was a request?"

"Fine." Tucker huffed. He craned his head outside and shouted. "Hey! Blarg blargity honk blarg honk! Can you honkonk blarg blarg?"

The firing stopped. The soldiers all looked at each other in the silence, and finally Tucker crept out into the courtyard between generator room and windmill.

"Agent Washington." Sarge tuned into his radio on the open channel. "Come in Agent Washington."

" _Wash here._ " The stress in Washington's voice was evident through the hiss of the radio.

"Where are you?" Sarge asked.

" _Pinned down at the beach. There're aliens all along the wall, I count at least six or seven. Why have they stopped firing?_ "

"Tucker is trying to negotiate." Simmons explained.

" _Oh. Shame. I was almost getting used to him._ "

"Can you see my sister?" Grif asked.

" _Yeah. She's pinned down too, on the other side, by the ship. She's under cover but I can't get to her._ "

"Can you see _my_ sister? "

" _What? Caboose, get off the radio_!"

"Do you know why the aliens are..." Laser fire cut off Simmons' question.

Tucker sprinted back into the factory. "Great! Fuck! Shit!" He panted.

"So, how did the negotiations go?" Sarge asked.

"Uh...how the hell does it look!?" A grenade exploded a couple feet from the doorway, causing the whole group to duck instinctively.

"What did they say?" Simmons asked.

"Oh, not much," Tucker clipped his sword to his side and started loading up his battle rifle. "Some shit about vengeance and infidels. And they might have...you know... accused me of being the false prophet, god stealer, and the evil one who works with the Great Destroyer and his minions of great evil."

"Great." Sarge grumbled.

Grif was practically trembling. "Is that all?"

Tucker paused. "Oh, and they're going to kill us all."

"All of us!" Grif squealed, "Why all of us?"

"You think they look _picky_?" Tucker said.

Sarge inched toward the doorway, his back tight against the wall, trying to see without being spotted. "We need to get to that beach!"

"Why?" Tucker asked. "There's only two of them down there, and five of us up here. They should come to us!"

"Shut up, Tucker." Grif snapped.

Sarge turned back to the group. "Okay. Here's the plan. Bluetard one."

"Me?" Caboose looked behind himself, but there was no one there.

"Yes you, numbnuts. You get over to that window up there." Sarge pointed to one of the shuttered windows on the second floor of the generator room. "On my signal you throw a grenade into the transformer coils outside. That should give us a pretty good bang. Grif?"

"Yeah?"

"While the aliens are distracted we'll take up position at the turrets on the platforms outside. We'll provide cover fire while Simmons and Bluetard Two run like crazy men along that that catwalk to the outbuilding, and from there to the wall and from there to the ship. Are we clear?"

"Who died and made you Sgt. Fury?" Tucker asked.

Sarge shrugged. "More than likely that Wash fella."

From outside came a loud blast, followed by a series of whining hisses and increasingly loud explosions.

"Great Caesar's dressing! What was that?" Sarge shouted.

Caboose ran to Sarge's side. "I threw the grenade at the Autobots. Like you asked me to."

"I said on my signal moron, Not now! Ah, Grif take left turret. Bluetards, Simmons, get to that ship!"

Sarge started running for the stairs to the second level, and after a moment's hesitation the rest followed.

X X X

On the beach, Sister was trembling in ankle deep sea water trying to figure out where exactly to crouch to put maximum amount of boulder between her and the attacking aliens. She bit back a squeal of fear at the huge explosion that went off inside the factory complex. However as the chain reaction of explosions died away, so did the sounds of the attacking aliens' weapons. It was only as the adrenaline wore off that Sister noticed how her crouching position was making her back ache and the baby kick.

"Hey, uh, Washingchurch guy?" she whispered through her radio.

" _Are you all right?_ "

"Umm..."

His voice immediately took a panicked edge. " _Are you in labor?_ "

"Uhhh...No. Don't think so. They stopped shooting at us."

" _Yeah. I noticed. It seems like the others are staging a diversion._ " Then, under his breath, "Or blowing things up on accident again." He cleared his throat. " _Either way, I'm going to try to get to the wall. If I can find some good cover and the right vantage I might be able to start picking them off. Stay there. Do not move. Understood?_ "

"Shh-yeah." She answered. Sister clumsily slipped her legs out from under her, landing with a splash into a sitting position. She craned her head just in time to see Washington sneaking from the rocks and running to the wall. She glanced over at the drop-ship, and then down. "You hear that you little bastard? Don't move." From beyond the sea wall Sister could hear the sounds of firing as the battle began again. Nervously she dug her gloved hands into the sand and froze when her fingers hit something cold, metal and sharp.

X X X

Grif was beginning to understand what Simmons saw in turrets. They _never_ ran out of ammo. He had been firing in the general direction of where he thought the aliens were for so long his hands were numb and his ears were ringing, but the gun showed no sign of running out of bullets. The ringing in his ears was having another positive effect. It was drowning out the sound of Sarge's frantic shouting. He'd assumed that the Red Leader was just spouting off the usual litany of battle cries Grif knew; (so well that he didn't so much recite them in his sleep as run from them in his nightmares.) However, he finally caught through the bullet fire, laser fire, and alien war cries, the snatches of a question. He tried to look to his left, catching from the corner of his visor, Sarge standing at the other turret, on a platform a good three or four Jeep-lengths away.

"Private Grif, I'm ordering you to answer me!" Sarge was in earnest, the panic creeping up on him that this important bit of business wouldn't be concluded before Grif was inevitably killed in battle. Friendly fire incidents were an unfortunate fact of war. And seeing as they were now practically family, Sarge was feeling pretty friendly toward Grif.

"What do you want ants for?" Grif shouted.

"Your sister! I have to ask you, it's about your sister!"

Grif paused. "Yeah, I guess kinda missed her?"

"Dammit Grif!" Sarge shouted back, over a grenade blast. "I've got to ask your permission, for your sister's hand, before they-or I- kill you."

"Yeah? My hands are numb too! What about it?"

Sarge spoke more reluctantly, and thus lower and quieter. "I know that we don't exactly get along, but seeing as you're the closest thing that she has to a Man of the Family."

There was a long pause from Grif. "What?"

Sarge sighed, then shouted as loud as he could. "I've got to marry your sister!"

Grif nodded in agreement, or at least as well as he could while firing a machine gun turret. "Damn right, you're not marrying my sister. Over my dead body."

Sarge paused. "What?"

"I said right!" Grif screamed, "Over my dead body!"

"Ah! All right then! Glad that's settled."

X X X

Simmons, Tucker and Caboose had finally managed to make their way to the outbuilding, dodging lasers, grenades, and purple spike things that Caboose knew now were _not_ grape Jolly Ranchers. The three soldiers were now crouched inside the ground floor of the building. Simmons was watching at the door facing the windmill. Caboose and Tucker were standing at the door to his right, facing the sea wall, waiting for Simmons' signal to run across the tiny grassy plot between the building and the cliff face and jump into the high doorway to the sea wall cut into the rock.

"Waaaait for it." Simmons said. "Waaaaaaaaait for it."

"Wait for what?" Tucker snapped. "Wait for the aliens to stop trying to kill us?"

Simmons held out his hand. "Waaaaaaaaaaait for it."

"Fuck it, I'm going!" Tucker ran out onto the grass. The lavender armored alien now standing in the arched doorway to the cliff raised its plasma rifle.

Tucker did an abrupt about face."Fuuck it I'm staying!"

Caboose also spotted the bloodthirsty monster from beyond the stars. "Hey! It's Smith!" He said.

Over the sound of firing, and shooting back, Simmons shouted into his radio. "What?"

" _What's your current position?_ " Washington repeated.

"We're in the building, the little one, to the right of the windmill."

There was dead air for a moment, " _Is that my right or?_ "

"We're in Froman!" Caboose shouted to the side of Simmons' head.

Tucker paused in his frantic suppressing fire. "Where are you getting that from? Froman? God, that is so retarded!"

" _Okay, and who is we?_ "

"Caboose, Tucker and I." Simmons replied," Sarge an Grif are on the-"

" _Yes, I see them. I'm right across from you._ "

"We were trying to get to the ship." Tucker said. "Sergeant McShouty Dick thought it would be a-"

" _No, just stay there._ " Washington said. " _Stay there until I give the signal._ "

Tucker muttered under his breath, "I swear if I have one more asshole give me orders..."

"Get down!" Simmons shouted, the lavender alien had thrown a grenade into the tiny fort. It sailed over the soldier's heads, through the back door, and into the courtyard where it exploded.

Caboose stood in the doorway. "Smith! Bad alien! Stop trying to..."

"Caboose, what are you doing?" Tucker asked, voice frantic.

The dense Blue was using too much of his limited brain power to spare any thoughts for fear. "Tucker, look, it's our old friend Smith. Remember, the friendly aliens from the desert. The ones who were trying to kill us? Then they were our friends? And then tried to kill us? They really liked Church." Caboose sighed wistfully, turning his head as the blast from a beam rifle whizzed by his ear. "We had so much in common."

"Ah what?" Tucker cried, "It's one of _those_ aliens? Well that explains it."

X X X

In the second floor of the building opposite the windmill from where Simmons, Tucker and Caboose were hiding, there was a decent sniper's nest. Washington had managed to make it to this without being seen. Now If he could just get to the right angle to take out the alien blocking the way to the ship. Unfortunately before he could line up the shot he caught sight of a couple aliens that had crept along beneath the walkways, and were now running into the ground floor of the factory building.

"Sarge," He radioed frantically, "Sarge, get out of there, your position is compromised!"

" _What?_ " Sarge said, " _You can't compromise with savages! And the aliens don't look too keen on…_ "

"No," Washington could see the aliens on the turret platforms now. "I said to watch your rear!"

" _Now that's just mean._ " Grif said. " _First you kill Donut, and now you're trying to take his job?_ ”

"Behind you!" Washington shouted.

Sarge was having a hard time hearing his own bloodthirsty cries, let alone the shouts of his comrades. But when he heard the distinctive growl of an alien's honker breathing hot, stinky, alien breath down his back, he finally understood what Washington had been trying to tell him.

He whirled around just in time to see an alien in pale yellow, shining blue-black scales showing between the gaps in the armor, a demonic murderous look in his beady burning coal eyes.

"Sweet mother of Ridley Scott!" Sarge jumped back, only to find he'd misjudged the platform's width and the ground beneath his boots had dropped down a good fifteen feet. He fell into the courtyard below, but managed to land more or less upright and start sprinting away.

Grif jumped after him, but as usual, was less lucky in his landing. He'd never had anything close to the reflexes of a cat, and in this case his fall from the platform to the ground was like dropping a sack of seals off a cliff. To Sarge's great disappointment Giff somehow struggled to his feet and shambled after his CO.

Plasma bursts nipping at their heels, Sarge and Grif respectively ran and staggered to their teammates' hideout. Simmons grabbed at their plating to pull them in quicker. Then all five soldiers stood, huddled together in the cover, a fraternity of fear and confusion.

"Aw fucksticks! What are we gonna do now?" Tucker was craning his head around the doorjamb, noticing aliens taking up firing positions from factory to windmill.

Sarge reloaded his shotgun. Then he checked his pistol. Simmons and Grif exchanged terrified glances. Sarge never checked his pistol, unless he thought there was a chance he might use it. And he never used his pistol. Not until he had expended every last shotgun shell in his possession.

"You boys ever see _Rio Bravo_?" Sarge asked.

Tucker looked to Grif and Simmons. All three shrugged "No."

" _High Noon?_ "

"No."

" _Gunfight at O.K Corral?_ "

"No!"

"Dagnabbit," Sarge snapped, "What are they teaching these kids today? Don't even know the classics."

"Okay, I got one." Tucker said, "You guys ever seen _Bad Boys II_?"

Grif and Simmons nodded.

"Okay. Well here's the plan. I'm Will Smith, and those aliens out there, they're like that Cuban shantytown, and the only way we're getting to save the girl is if we smash our way through to Guantanamo Bay."

"Why do you get to be Will Smith?" Grif asked.

"Ooh ooh!" Simmons said, "I wanna be Martin Lawrence!"

Completely ignoring their desperate planning, Caboose was talking in a low, gentle voice to the alien blocking their way to the ship."Okay Mr. Smith. I can tell that you are upset." The alien stared the Blue Private down. "Everyone gets upset sometimes. Do you want to talk about it? Sometimes, when I'm upset...Church," Caboose's voice broke, "Church would get me a glass of milk. And he told me that the best way to get feel better was to go to the smallest, darkest, closet in the base and sit alone by myself for a while. And not talk." Caboose was starting to break down. "And then sometimes, so I would be by myself for long enough to be all better, Church would lock the door and not let me out until I was okay." he sobbed, "No matter how loud I asked."

Sarge and Tucker were still arguing the benefits of Will Smith versus John Wayne when Grif's radio hissed to life.

" _Hey, you guys?_ " Sister asked, " _You guys like, okay...over there?_ "

Grif shot up like he'd been struck by lightning "Are you in labor?"

" _No. Just sitting here by the ship. I found this spik-_ "

"Listen missy," Sarge said, "I'm not going to lie. We're surrounded, low on ammo, and none of these dirtbags have seen a John Wayne movie. I don't think we're gonna make it.'

" _Uh-huh..._ "

"So I'm ordering you to do the girly thing and run away. Fast. Back at Valhalla I have sewn into my mattress all of Grif's holiday bonuses and workers compensation payments for the last eight years."

"What!?" Grif said.

" _Vallawho?_ " Sister said.

"The aliens are getting closer!" Tucker shouted.

Caboose was still trying to talk down the alien. "I'm sorry Smith, Church would know what to say to you if he were here. He was such a people person...ghost...ball...robot."

" _Grif?_ " Sister asked, tentatively.

Grif sounded surprisingly firm. "You heard the man, get out of here now, Sis!"

"Oh no they're charging!" Simmons yelped.

"Wait!" There was a shot creating a small explosion of dust at the foot of the lead most alien. It stopped. All aliens, humans, and morons turned to see the soldier in yellow and cobalt standing at the edge of the turret emplacement. Washington had the sniper rifle at his shoulder. "We're you looking for me?"

The aliens trained their weapons on Washington, who didn't seem to notice. He was busy staring down the purple-armored alien with the demon blue eyes, who had emerged from the shadows and was now standing in the center of the courtyard, glaring up at Washington, who lowered his weapon to talk to the alien in the most condescending way possible.

"Yeah that's right I'm here...Smith, is it? You aliens all look alike to me. So, back from the dead? I'm sure you think that's very impressive, but believe me, around here it's a trick that's really starting to get old. Now coming back twice? That sounds a little more challenging." Washington raised the sniper rifle, and took aim, "Care to try it?"

Smith glared, but also lowered his rifle. "Blarg honk honk blarg."

"What did he say?" Simmons whispered to Tucker. They were watching the badassery taking place from their bullet-pocked shelter.

"He said, "You're not so tough without your big Shisno demon."

"Does he mean the Meta?" Grif asked.

Humans and aliens alike were riveted by the standoff taking place, the intensity between Washington and Smith was like invisible elastic, stretched thin and about to snap. Sarge wouldn't have been the least surprised to see a tumbleweed blow through, or to hear a twangy mournful tune on the air.

"So, you and me." Washington said, "One on one. Man to man."

The assembled aliens shared sideways glances. Smith glared at him. "Blarg."

"Yeah, Okay. Alien." Washington raised his Sniper Rifle.

Smith raised his beam rifle. "Blarg, honk honk!"

Washington's finger tightened on the trigger. The entire assembly of aliens and humans shouldered weapons, preparing for the onslaught.

"Ohhh shit." Grif moaned.

A spaceship fell out of the sky. It landed between Smith and the Froman base, crushing three or four of the other aliens in a huge cloud of dust. The engines on the ship were roaring, and Smith was shouting in inarticulate rage. Slowly the back hatch of the cargo section lowered.

"What the hell?" Simmons said, standing dazed beside his teammates. A rounded figure in yellow armor clambered from a top hatch in the ship and stood on the bulkhead. In her hands was some kind of massive handgun with dual knife attachments. She shot wildly at Smith, who ran for cover behind a support pillar.

"Get in you big dummies!?" Sister shouted. She spun around on top of the ship and actually managed to hit a grey armored alien who had been creeping up on the distracted humans. "Stay away from my brother you stupid slimy dogs!"

"What? Sis?" Grif was dumbfounded.

Washington leapt from the turret platform. "In the ship!" he commanded.

"Running running running." Caboose chanted to himself, as they sprinted up the ramp and into hold.

Grif's radio hissed. " _You guys all in back there?_ " Sister asked. " _Cause we're taking off!_ " With a rumble the ship began climbing unsteadily. As the back hatch slowly closed, they could see Smith glaring up at them.

"Sister? How are you flying the ship?" There was an edge of wonder and panic in Washington's voice.

" _Uh, with the controls._ "

"No, I mean, it's really hard to handle."

"Bow chicka wo-Ow! Who did -?"

" _Yeah,_ " Sister agreed, " _But you should try driving a hotwired Zamboni after a third of Bacardi and a handful of Vicodin_."

Washington paused, "Have you-" His question was cut off by something suddenly impacting with the ship.

" _Shit!_ " Sister yelped, " _They're shooting at us!_ "

"Get us out of here now!" Washington shouted.

" _Got it!_ " The ship's engines got deadly quiet for a second. The troopers looked at each other in panic. Suddenly the engines fired, and the sudden acceleration was enough to throw everyone to the back of the ship.

"Whaaats happpeeninnng?" Grif moaned, pressed to the back hatch by the G-forces.

"Sister, what did you do?" Simmons shouted.

" _Um...I might have just hit the hippie drive...I think._ "

A blaring klaxon, accompanied by flashing red lights filled the cargo hold. There was a terrifying sputtering coughing sound from the ship's engine.

Washington felt a panic tinged with annoyance overwhelm him. "Private Grif! Sister! Shut it off!"

With a sound like the world's largest vacuum sucking up a manhole cover, the engine clanked, shrieked, and exploded. The sudden deceleration threw them all to the floor for a second. Before the freefall drop out of the sky had them pressed against the ceiling.

" _Shit! Shit shit shit!_ " Sister shouted.

"Level us out! Try to land!" Washington ordered.

" _What do you think I'm doing?!_ "

Simmons could taste his stomach in the back of his throat. And then the whole world slammed into blackness.


	7. An Immodest Proposal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Walking in a Winter Wonderland.

Clawing his way out of the second twisted wreck in as many days was not what Simmons called a great beginning to the week. In fact, this week was slowly climbing up his top-ten-list of worst weeks ever. It had just surpassed Invisotank Madness, and was quickly catching up to Potatochip Nipple-Gate, but still lagged behind the week his dad went to the corner store for a pack of smokes and never found his way back.

He was counting his small blessings though, this time the crashed ship hadn't burst into flames. Instead it was smoldering mournfully, radiating just enough heat to turn the piles of snow around the ship into a gloppy, soupy, slush. The freezing slurry chilled him to the bone the second he dragged his aching body out the back hatch. As far as Simmons could see, in any direction, was snow. No trees. No buildings. Just blindingly white snow.

Most of his teammates had already made it out. The ship had landed on it's side, and now Sarge and the Blues were gathered at the cockpit. Caboose and Sarge managed manhandle the hatch open, while Washington extricated Sister. She seemed dazed and was still holding the strange knife handgun she'd found with an unthinking death grip. Washington sat her propped up against the ship, then knelt beside her. Simmons heard a groan behind him. He turned to see Grif limping over to the group.

Washington had his hand up to the side of his helmet as if he was scanning, and was looking the pregnant woman up and down. "Private Grif, you okay?"

Grif staggered over to the former freelancer and his sister. "Yeah, I'm _fine_. Now take care of _her_."

"I wasn't talking to you!" Washington snapped at him. "I was talking to..."

"Look, dude." Tucker said, "For the last time. Just call her Sister, okay? Everyone el-"

"Can it!" Sarge barked.

Washington put a hand on Sister's helmet. "Are you okay?"

She cocked her head to the side, still dazed. "Uhhh..."

Washington jumped to his feet. "Are you in labor?!"

"Uh..nope. Don't think so." Sister wiggled her fingers and her feet, testing. Then rested a hand on her round stomach and drummed it with her fingers. "Yeah, he's stayin' put. Little bastard." She reached out with her hand and Washington helped her to stand.

Sarge scrutinized her, skeptically. " _Are_ you okay?"

"Yeah, I guess." Sister hung her head, sheepish. "Sorry I crashed the shade plane."

"It's okay." Washington sighed. "I don't think it was entirely your fault."

"This time..." Simmons muttered under his breath.

Tucker had his hand up to his visor, scanning the horizon. "Where are we?"

"An arctic wasteland," Grif answered, "Where do you think? Dumbass."

"Well that was helpful, Grif." Simmons said. "You're a regular fucking cartographer."

Grif took up a lazy slouch within a protective vicinity of his sister. "Simmons, if you're going to insult me, use words people actually understand."

Simmons scoffed. "It's someone who makes maps, retard."

"Everyone needs a hobby." Caboose said. He was lying flat on the frozen ground, flailing his arms and legs.

"Yeah, well guess what, moron?" Grif said. "You know what our hobby is going to be? Freezing and dying."

Washington began rooting around in the open cockpit of the ship. "Why don't you make that _your_ hobby, Grif. While I try and pinpoint our location."

Caboose was continuing making sweeping arm motions on the ground. He seemed to be attempting to make a snow angel, but the results were more octupus than angelic. Simmons didn't bother watching. "Stop complaining Grif," he said. "I'm sure that well think of something. Sarge probably already has a plan. Right, Sarge?"

Sarge was staring into the vast white nothing, standing between the frigid wasteland and Sister. "Working on it."

"And how do I die in this plan?" Grif asked. "Catapulted through a wall? Meat shield? Disemboweled and used for shelter?"

"Naw, I was thinkin' more along the lines of rendering your thick layer of blubber into heating and cooking oil, Moby Dick style."

"Sperm whale?" Grif asked.

Sarge snorted. "You wish, humpback."

"Is there a whale that doesn't sound completely perverted?" Tucker wondered aloud.

"Whaddabout a blue whale?" Caboose asked from the ground. There was stony silence from Sarge. "Then maybe...narwhal..." Caboose suggested, tentatively. "You know...the horny one..."

"There she blows!" Sarge cried in agreement.

"Didn't think so..." Tucker said.

Simmons was afraid to ask, but couldn't stop himself. "What will you be cooking?"

"Caboose of course!"

"Sounds delicious!" Caboose had paused in his efforts, a demonic snow cthulhu spreading around him.

"Yep." Sarge gazed wistfully off into the lifeless landscape. "Cannibalism is an important part of any arctic experience. Just like frostbite, and snow blindness. And the creeping madness born of being lost in a lifeless purgatorial wasteland."

Tucker picked up a hunk of ice and chucked it. "Well we've had that last one there going for years."

"Good times." Caboose agreed, with a hint of sadness.

Washington pulled himself from the cockpit of the ship. "Well I've got good news and bad news." His voice didn't inspire much confidence in his 'good news' "Good news is that I was able to figure out our location."

"Lemme see." Tucker peered over his shoulder and then ducked into the cockpit.

Washington sighed and looked right at Sister. "Bad news is we are seventy-six miles from the nearest human habitation."

"So what does that mean?" Sister asked.

Sarge answered her. "It means that we have to split up. One team will stay here with you, hopelessly waiting for rescue while cabin fever, starvation, and despair set in, while the others go for help; struggling through blizzards while fighting off hypothermic delusions and polar bears."

Grif raised his hand. "I volunteer for team one, I'll take despair over polar bears any day."

"Ahh, fuck yeah!" Tucker said, triumphantly, as he backed out of the cockpit.

"What?" Washington asked.

"I know where we are too!"

"Congratulations?" Washington didn't sound congratulatory.

Tucker shook his head. "No, we might be like, a bajillion miles from a human base..."

"A bajillion is not a real number." Simmons mumbled, sing-song.

"Fuck you Simmons." Tucker answered in the same tone, then continued as before. "But we're only a couple miles from an alien base I've been to."

"Really?" Now, Washington was genuinely hopeful.

"Yeah!"

"Can you lead us there?" Sarge asked.

"Sure."

Simmons was still unsure "And the aliens there? Are they friendly?"

"But not too friendly." Caboose added.

"I would say yes." Tucker jutted a thumb out at Washington. "But with this asshole in tow I'm not so sure."

"Thanks." Washington said, sarcastically. "Okay. Lets scavenge the ship for supplies, and then get going."

X X X

It turned out that there wasn't much to retrieve from the ship. A few boxes of rations, some extra ammunition that Washington felt nervous about leaving behind. Washington was careful to note the coordinates of the crash in case he needed to return for what he couldn't cajole the others into carrying.

They'd been trudging along just long enough for Grif to stop his fake whining about having to do actual physical activity, but not quite long enough for him to become so tired he would whine for real. The blinding white snow drifts stretched out to meet a painfully blue sky, in a featureless horizon that spun nearly three-sixty. They seemed to be heading for the darker blue smudge of a mountainous outcropping, but Washington was still having a hard time risking his life on Tucker's sense of direction.

"So Tucker, this base," Washington asked, "You've been to it before?"

"Yeah?"

"I hope that it has heaters." Simmons grumbled.

"I hope that it has food." Grif added.

"I hope it has a pool." Caboose considered. "Or doors." He added.

"That's yes, maybe, and no." Tucker replied.

"I just hope it's got internet access. I haven't updated my Livejournal in, like, forever." Sister said. Washington glanced over his shoulder to check on her again. She hadn't been burdened with any supplies, obviously, but Washington was still unable to believe that a spaceship crash hadn't sent her into labor. Obviously she was saving it for some moment or place even more inconvenient.

Tucker shrugged, "I don't know about that one either. The aliens were using the base during the war for something... simulation, testing I think? Then, after the war they were doing some kind of excavation there. I don't know. I just tracked Junior and his stupid asshat Uncle there.

"Testing huh?" Sarge seemed intrigued.

"Yeah, I didn't really catch it all then. I hadn't learned how to talk good Alien."

"Talk Alien well?" Simmons mumbled, sing-song.

"Here's two words of English for you, Simmons: Fuck you. You know how hard it is to sue for visitation rights in a language you don't understand? It's not like hiring Mexican hookers. You can't just wave money around and expect language barriers to crumble."

It was Sister's turn to be intrigued. "You did all that to find your kid?"

"What can I say? I guess I kinda got attached. Plus single dad is just another word for chick magnet."

"So true." Sister agreed.

"So how old is your...son?" Washington asked.

"Uhh... I know we had a birthday like...this year?"

"Wow." Simmons said, sarcastically. "What a great dad."

"How come _he_ got a birthday this year?" Caboose sounded hurt.

"Hey! At least my kid has a dad!"

Simmons sniffled, then whimpered, "Shut up..."

"Yeah!" Caboose cried, "Some of us don't have birthdays!

"Technically your kid had like...two dads." Grif pointed out.

Tucker stared at him. "Why don't you just fuck off and die."

Grif held his hands up. "Just saying...kinda gay."

"Seriously...In a fire."

"Wow..." Sister's voice had gotten husky. "You and an alien dude...sounds kinda hot."

Tucker perked up instantly. "Really?"

"Yeah, you wouldn't have like... I don't know... a recording of it? Maybe audio?"

Washington had stopped walking for a second to stare at them, but continued on, muttering to himself. "You know...I had questions, but I just realized that I don't want the answers. To any of them."

Tucker was fiddling with the armor on his thigh. "Junior even sent me a Father's Day card this year. I keep it here in this slot in my armor."

"That slot is supposed to be for your First Aid kit." Washington's observation was ignored.

Tucker unfolded a colorful square of paper, and began to read aloud. "'Honk, Blarg. Blarg honk honk blarg. Blarg.' that there, that's so Junior..."

Caboose was sniffling. "Does someone have a tissue?"

Sarge had purposely fallen behind, and was now walking shoulder to shoulder with Sister. He cleared his throat, and started talking. "Listen, um, missy, just in case we have to leave Grif behind..."

Sister looker over at him. "Uh Huh?"

"Seriously!" Tucker called out. "It's just like...two miles! We're halfway there."

Grif stopped dead in his tracks. "Halfway?" he puffed.

"Two miles?" Simmons asked. Grif looked at Simmons, begging wordlessly. "I am _not_ carrying you." Simmons said.

Grif began sinking into the snow. "Can't go on...feeling faint...blood sugar dropping...Hostess withdrawl...settling in."

Sarge gestured to Grif, "So before we leave your brother to join the ranks of Esprit De Corpsicles, I thought you should know that we came to a decision, him and me."

Sister glanced at her collapsing brother. "Yeah?

The entire group had now slowed to a stop, watching Sarge standing stiffly- awkwardly- in front of Sister.

He cleared his throat again. "Yeah. We talked it out...and um... seeing as Lopez had all that science done. It seems that, through some miracle beyond the reasoning powers of man I have..." He was now eyeing her round stomach. "We have...that is to say, this is..." He stopped to gather himself, straightening up to look her directly in the visor. "No one can say I'm not a man of honor, of integrity." Grif snorted. "And I believe to facing up to my mistakes and responsibilities, even if those mistakes and responsibilities," he swallowed, "are _Grifs_. I've spoken to your brother as the, ahem, 'man' of the family; so..." Sarge knelt in the snow in front of sister. "Miss... Grif, would you do me the honor of being my wife?"

Sister froze. "Wait. What?"

"Wait. What?" Grif said.

"Why the fuck," Tucker said, "Did I not bring a camera?!"

Sarge was still kneeling expectantly in the snow, waiting for Sister to process his request. "You're serious." she said. "You're proposing? Like on the Bachlorette?"

"Yes. As the father of your child I am ordering- I mean asking- you. To marry. Me."

She cocked her helmeted head to one side. Her face and voice inscrutable. "You seriously, actually want to marry me? Just because you knocked me up?"

"Yes." Sarge nodded, then added as an afterthought. "Or, you can marry Simmons."

Simmons started. "Wait. what?"

There was a long pause as the standing yellow soldier, round baby belly peeking out from beneath her chest plate, stared blankly at the kneeling red Sergeant. Then suddenly a high pitched squeal broke her silence. "Eeeeee! I can't believe it! I'm engaged!"

"Is that a yes?" Sarge asked.

Sister was gushing with excitement. "Are you on Facebook? We have to update our statuses like right now! Ohhh, all my sorority sisters are going to wig!" Suddenly she stopped, and her voice dropped. "Wait? Are we actually going to set a date too?"

"Yes. ASAP." Sarge stood, and pointed at her. "Before this baby is born a bastard and a Grif. No child of mine will be a Griftard."

Now Sister was standing still, dumbfounded. "You mean I'm actually going to be married. For real married? Like, _before_ I have a baby? And you're really the father?" When Sarge nodded, she squealed to herself again. "You think we can get on TV or something? Like, one of the classy ones... Dr. Phil?"

From the semi-circle of spectators Tucker leaned over to Washington. "I'm trying to decide if this is heartwarming or..."

"Nauseating." Washington finished

"Yeah." Tucker agreed, "That's the one. Nauseating."

Caboose edged away from his teammates. "Use your own helmet."

Grif seemed to have frozen in place, like a creature turned to stone by some horrific apparition. Simmons poked at his shoulder. "Grif, are you okay?"

Grif turned to his friend, dazed. "Simmons?" His voice sounded far away. He turned back just in time to see Sister wrap Sarge in an enthusiastic hug. He was now swaying back and forth unsteadily.

"Grif?" Simmons asked again. With a 'thunk' Grif fell backward into the snow. Simmons surveyed his unconscious teammate. "I'm still not carrying you, asshole."

X X X

Two squat vaguely trapezoidal buildings sat hunched in the snow, in the shadow of a dark grey cliff. They were less than a grenade's throw away from each other. Their rounded edges and iridescent purple coloring indicated they were alien structures. Rising from the roofs of both buildings were goalpost looking long narrow antennas. The two bases were identical, except that the antenna on one base flickered blue with alien energy, while the antennas on the other base were clear and lifeless.

Between and in front of the bases was the mouth of a grey steel bunker, leading under the ice. A ring of protective turrets demarcated the boundaries of the camp.

Tucker gestured grandly at the buildings, smug in his success. "Well, here we are."

Caboose came wheezing up to the ridge beside him. An unconscious Grif was slung over his shoulder. "I'm tired," he whined, "And I don't see, a swimming pool."

Washington offered a critical assessment. "More importantly, I don't see any aliens. The bases look deserted."

"Great." Caboose slumped more under Grif's weight. "And now I want ice cream."

"You can put Private Grif down now." Washington said. For once, Caboose didn't need to be told something twice.

Simmons stepped over his unconscious teammate, too busy checking out their refuge to give him more than a glance. "Why would the aliens put two bases right next to each other, in the middle of a frozen wasteland?"

"We're here?" Sarge asked. Then he looked at the abandoned alien structures. "Oh sweet heavens! Finally something that makes sense!"

Simmons turned to his leader. "What?"

"Two bases! Demarcated by primary colors! Within sniping distance of each other! And I was beginning to think the universe had lost all sense of order and reason!"

Simmons was skeptical. "I don't know that the bases are actually different colors, Sarge. It looks like the base on the right doesn't have the lights on."

"Yes. but the base on the left is _clearly_ blue. So as soon as we get the red lights working on our base... it'll be just like home."

Caboose's spirits lifted. "Then we can start trying to kill each other again!"

Sister looked from base to base. "Where am I gonna stay?"

"Blue base, of course." Sarge said.

"But we're _engaged_." Sister sounded hurt.

"I know _that_ , and I'm trying not to hold it against you. But it'll be a sunny day on Sidewinder before anyone wearing Blue armor just prances into a Red Base on my watch."

Sister paused, unsure. "So you want me to get naked?"

"And technically her armor isn't really blue," Washington pointed out. "It's yellow."

"What's yellow?" Sister asked.

"Also," Caboose said, "I pranced into Red Base like... all the time."

Sarge whirled around to glare at the Blue. "What?!"

"I told you to keep quiet about that!" Simmons growled under his breath.

Caboose didn't seem to hear the warning. "Yeah. Movie nights. Scrabble nights."

"What's he talking about?" Tucker asked.

Simmons sighed, resigned. "Well for a while, he was the only Blue you know..."

"Snack breaks..." Caboose continued.

"We felt sorry for him okay?" Simmons was defensive. "He seemed lonely."

"Thunderstorms..."

"So when Sarge was gone, or busy. We kinda... let him come over to our base."

Sarge's voice was an enraged growl. "Simmons..."

"Yeah, whatever," Tucker said "I'm freezing my balls off out here listening to you guys bitch. So if nobody minds I think I'm heading inside." Tucker sauntered off in the direction of the base lit up Blue.

After a moment's hesitation, Washington gestured to Caboose. "Let's go."

"Lead the way, Church!" Caboose said, with a perkiness bordering on desperation.

"I'm not Church." Washington replied flatly.

Sarge kicked at the unmoving orange lump on the ground. It groaned, but remained unresponsive. He motioned to his maroon subordinate. "Simmons! Your turn to haul the dead weight!"

"Fine." Simmons huffed. Sarge cleared his throat, and Simmons added a grudging, "Sir," before he grabbed Grif's ankles and started dragging his teammate over the snow drifts, mumbling curses.

Sarge turned around, and saw that Sister had lingered. There was an awkward pause where Sister drug the armored toe of her yellow boot through the snow, coyly fiddling with her new knife gun.

"I already told you," Sarge finally growled, "You're _not_ staying with us."

"But I don't even really know them!" Sister protested.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me!" Simmons shouted from the door to the newly christened 'Red Base'. "You lived with them for _months_. You've slept with two thirds of them."

Sister still hesitated. "Anyway, that one guy, the pissed off one, something about him gives me the creeps."

Sarge snorted. "Of course he does! Blues are always creepy. You should have thought about that before joining their team. Now beat it, missy! I'm not telling you again."

"Fine." Sister sighed, and shuffled off to the Blue Base.

Sarge watched her leave. "That's right," he grumbled to himself, "You get in that Blue base, you little Blue tramp. Gonna catch a cold standing out here in the snow." He didn't move to enter his own base until she was through the door of hers.

"What?" Simmons shrieked from inside, "Our base has no _power_!


	8. In Search of Lust Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Washington leaves a voice mail.

The interior of the base was much like the exterior. Purple, rounded, and pulsing with blue light, near one end of the room was a large spherical projection that- judging from the low humming- was a generator or power source. At the other end of the floor was a partition of glass, dividing off an alcove. About half the roof was actually a golden window, giving a yellow tinged view of the sky outside.

The base was blessed with an abundance of entrances. A large one facing the blinding white tundra was wide enough to drive a jeep through. Opposite were two smaller ones facing the 'Red' base, between them was a third door that seemed to curve underground. The doors were 'closed' with force fields that kept out the cold and, according to Tucker, would also prevent anything moving faster than a leisurely walk from entering, including projectiles and lasers.

With no Wi-Fi picked up, no pools spotted, and no new chicks making an appearance, Sister and Tucker were resting by the spherical generator. Washington, however, was pacing back and forth in the alcove, one hand up to the side of his helmet. His long range radio was ringing out. Caboose stood near him, his head turning from side to side as he followed Washington's path across the floor.

"Come on. Come on, pick up!" He muttered, there was a click and beep on the other end.

_"You've reached the voice mail for Medical Super Private Frank DuFresne, First Class."_

"Dammit." Washington hissed.

The voice mail continued. " _I am currently either seeing to a pressing medical issue, in an area of poor reception, or renewing my soul by temporarily disengaging myself from technology._ "

"Leave a message!" Caboose said.

"That's what I'm going to do." Washington snapped.

Sister sighed, and carefully eased herself to the floor, tugging at armor plates. "Ugh, my feet are so swollen, I don't think I can get these boots off."

Tucker sat down next to her, watching as she pulled her under suit back over her baby belly. "So like... are you ready for this?"

"For what?"

"Having a kid? And keeping it? They're a lot of work."

"Get to the prompts already." Washington growled into this helmet.

" _If this is a medical emergency, press 1. If this is a spiritual emergency press 2._ "

"Press one!" Caboose said. "One is always best. Except when it's ten. Then wait for ten!"

Sister considered Tucker's question. "I dunno..." She shrugged. "I mean, I had a guinea pig once."

Tucker coughed. "Umm...I don't know if that really..."

"It died."

"How long did you have it?" Tucker asked.

"Two hours." She paused, then looked down. "Okay." She admitted, "Hour and half. I think."

Washington's pacing took on an enraged quality. The voice mail greeting droned on. " _If you wish to report malpractice, or file wrongful death claims on behalf of a family member, press 3. If you are interested in joining a vegan co-op press 4._ "

Caboose was now actively following Washington from one side of the room to the other. "Oh wait, Churchington! Pick that one! That Vegas Co-ed one."

The part of tiny part of Tucker's brain that he had diverted away from picking up chicks and reappropriated to 'semi-responsible parent' was getting concerned. "Didn't Doc or Lopez give you any like...instructions? A book, or pamphlet?"

"No." Sister replied.

"Well, someone has to have told you something about having kids."

Sister mulled it over, and then suddenly perked up. "Oh! My cousin! She had like...three kids!"

"And?"

"And she said that in Wyoming it's totally legal to leave a baby at the fire station if it's not two weeks old yet."

Washington now had both hands on the sides of his helmet. "Doc, for the love of God! Just stop!" He wailed at the voice mail system.

" _To schedule a personalized chakra energy consultation press 5. If you are inquiring about a listing on my Freecycle press 6. To repeat these options in Esperanto, press 7._ "

"Wait what was that last one?" Caboose said. "Is there a rewind button? I need to hear it again."

"Caboose!" Washington snapped.

Sister seemed to have realized that, even _if_ she'd known where the nearest fire station was, she wasn't in Wyoming any more. She turned to Tucker. "You, you had a kid right, kind of? Can't _you_ tell me? Like about feeding them, washing them, and putting them to bed, or whatever?"

"My kid?" Tucker replied. "He drinks blood, sheds his skin every month, and sleeps on a dog bed we got a Pet-Co."

Sister slumped. "Damn."

"Yeah, sorry I don't really think..."

She interrupted him. "Do you have an extra dog bed? Pet-Co is like, _crazy_ expensive, and I'm under a galaxy-wide ban from K-Mart."

Tucker didn't answer her. He had become distracted by Washington growling nonstop inside his helmet, like a garbage disposal choking on moronic forks.

" _For anything else please leave a message after the beep._ "

"Finally! Doc? This is Wash. Look we managed to pick up you and Lopez's little science experiment, but our ship's crashed. I'm transmitting our coordinates. We need you to come pick us up. Now. Or at least get here. She looks..uh.. _close_...and I don't know how to deliver a baby."

Tucker called from across the room. "Pist, hey! Doc doesn't know how to deliver a baby either. Trust me."

Washington paused. "Strike that Doc. I don't _want_ to deliver a baby. Our coordinates are Tango Three Niner, Juliet Zero Two. Call me back as soon as you get this." He disconnected his radio. "Damn. I sure hope he gets that in time."

Sister sat up. "Oh! You could try calling the Mexican guy. Maybe he could help?"

Washington glanced down at the floor. "He's not available..."

"Have you tried him?" Sister asked. "I've got his number here. Let me give him a call."

They could hear her radio ringing out. It picked up to static and a warped low droning. " _hzzzzhzzzzz hzzz hzzzz. zzz..._ " The radio disconnected.

Sister dropped her hand from the side of her helmet. "Hmm... I wonder what happened?"

Tucker looked at Washington. "Yeah. I _wonder._ " He said, sarcastically.

X X X

Okay. Technically the 'Red' base had power of some kind. The force fields over the doors were working, and some kind of yellow emergency floor lights were on. But the rest of the lights were dim, and there was frost growing on the walls and the glass panels on the floor. And the entire base was balls-freezing cold.

Simmons had quickly decided to blame the spherical projection jutting out from the wall. He'd learned long ago that it was easier to blame technology than teammates. Sometimes, not often, but _sometimes_ he could fix technology. The generator seemed to have collapsed and was now twisted on its side. Simmons was crouching next to the complicated alien machinery, examining it with trembling hands.

"Great, just great, we slog four miles, through an icy wasteland, to an alien fortress, and the heater's busted." Simmons turned to his CO who was glaring at the unmoving orange lump they had rolled into a corner. "Sarge you sure we can't just go over to the other base?"

"You mean Blue Base? Simmons..." Sarge gave him a hard look. "You're not turning traitor on me again?"

"But we're not even fighting!" Simmons protested. "You said it yourself: it was all just made up. By the freelancers! Simulation! There's no reason for us to freeze to death over here, when there's a perfectly warm base less than fifty feet away."

Sarge was unmoved. "A _Blue_ base."

"It's all _fake_."

"Okay, let's go over," Sarge said, "Let's just abandon our base, and waltz right over to that base with its shiny Blue lights and kindly ask that nice Blue soldier if we can stay over in their cozy Blue base, with its decadent warmth and insidious electricity and glowy, shiny, monstrous Blueness."

There was a long pause as Sarge stared Simmons down. Letting his words sink in.

Simmons turned back to the alien generator. "Maybe I can get this fixed."

"That's the spirit!'

Simmons worked in silence for a while, fumbling at wires with his numb gloved fingers, while Sarge explored the base. Eventually Simmons glanced over his shoulder. "Sooooo Sarge." He started, "You and Sister huh?"

"Hmph." Sarge looked very busy inspecting the icicles hanging from the doorway.

"You know _she's_ a Blue, right?"

"Bah, little tramp's color blind." Sarge turned around to and walked over to Simmons. "And a girl. Hardly counts..." He paused, and his voice dropped, "But if you ever breathe a word of it to anyone I'll have your knickknacks for a keychain."

"Hey, I'm not one to judge. I'm sure it was just a momentary lapse of judgment. You know, heat of the moment, one night stand, kinda thing. "

Sarge didn't answer.

Simmons turned from his work to stare at him. "I'm assuming it was just... one...time..."

Sarge didn't answer.

"Right?" Simmons waited to see if Sarge would reply, but his the red soldier only coughed. "Oh my God." Simmons gasped.

Sarge looked wistfully off in to the middle distance. "Simmons, there's a kind of madness that can overtake a man stuck for too long, facing down his mortal enemy, but unable to attack. That's the only way I can explain it." Sarge sounded both fond and ashamed. "I knew, I just _knew_ , she was up to something. Otherwise, why did Blue command leave her behind? So for the first month, I just crouched on that cliff and watched her like a hawk, day and night, I hardly even slept. Watching that dirty, rotten, no good Blue Grif."

Simmons said, "And now this is getting creepy."

Sarge was too far gone in his reminiscing to reply. "I would sit through every morning, staring through the sniper rifle, waiting till two forty when she would wake. And then the parties, the music and dancing, I don't even know where the people came from. I would watch their young glitter pasted bodies writhing to pounding of the bass, reveling in the reckless abandon of freedom and PCP. I watched for two months, hate and frustration building like a can of Coke when you shake it real hard. But I still couldn't deduce her plan."

"Finally I realized: I need to get in there. I need to see for myself what this is all about. So that night, after the music had started, I went over to Blue Base."

"Didn't she recognize you?"

"Heh he no!" Sarge leaned in conspiratorially, "You see, I took off my helmet. Went in-cognizant."

"I think you mean incognito?"

Sarge ignored the vocabulary lesson, and continued his story. "I was trying to blend in with the crowd, but I ended up completely losing control of myself. Before I knew it I was drowning in a haze of gyrations, Lady Gaga and something they called Jungle Juice. And then in the demonic blue light of Blue Base, her beautiful bloodshot eyes locked on mine." Sarge paused, remembering.

"Simmons, you ever had a woman stare at you with so much burning desire that it was like a flamethrower of lust burning the armor from your body?"

"Ummm. Yes?" Simmons lied.

"And have you ever stared at a woman with so much intense hate -imagined rending her limb from limb like a savage lion devouring a young gazelle- that it was like you wanted to thrust your first into her chest and rip out her heart Mortal Kombat style?"

"And that would be a no."

Sarge sighed. "But then, suddenly, you realize that what you really, really, wanted to do, deep down, was to hold her soft, supple body in your arms and make crazy passionate love to her? And you realize your boner for murder was really just a plain boner?"

Simmons sniffled sadly. "Yes."

'It's something you don't get to do very often in the Army." Sarge said. "And, son, I've been in the Army for a very, very, very long time." The confessional silence followed, Sarge hung his head, waiting for absolution.

"So what happened then?" Simmons asked.

"What happened?" Sarge growled. "I woke up the next morning smelling like the inside of a toilet, head pounding, wallet stolen, all tangled up with a passed out dirty, rotten, no good Blue tramp."

"What did you do?"

Sarge thought for a moment. "You mean the first time it happened?"

Simmons recoiled. " _That_ happened more than once?'

Sarge huffed. "I kept telling myself that I wasn't ever going to do that again." It was one of the first times Simmons had heard Sarge mad at himself. "Every time it happened I swore it was the last time. But that damn woman's like poison ivy!"

"The weed? Like you have to keep scratching?"

"No! Like the Batman villain! She gets her tendrils wrapped around you and kisses you with all her mind-control poison and puts a spell on you. And I was just stupid enough to be George Clooney."

"But, you're going to marry her." Simmons reminded him.

"Yes, I am." Sarge said.

Simmons hesitated. "Look, crazy hate sex aside, why do you have to marry her? This doesn't seem like the best foundation for a healthy relationship."

"Tradition, Simmons!" Sarge straightened up, preparing to speechify. "Time honored tradition! Going back thousands of years to when one of our first caveman ancestors woke up next to the sister of someone he absolutely despised. And then that caveman realized that the only way to prolong that someone's misery was to be chained forever in the bonds of holy wedlock."

"So wait, are you doing all this just to spite Grif?" Simmons asked.

"Son," Sarge sighed. "Are you even _listening_?"

X X X

Sister had curled up on the floor by a heating coil, and was now fast asleep. Washington anxiously took stock of what they'd scavenged from the crashed ship and found around the base. Caboose had taken the small middle door that led down under the ice so he could explore the ice caves. Tucker, who had measured his self-preservation instincts and found them wanting, had stayed behind to pester Agent Washington.

"So, I mean, I know that we stole those aliens' floating ball thing, because it was Church. But that one alien, the purple one, Smith, he seemed to have a major beef with you."

Washington rummaged through a container he'd found, but all he found were empty ammunition cases, broken parts, and a blue flag wadded into a ball. "Yeah." He said, unfolding the flag to find it printed with illegible markings and some kind of segmented alien slug creature with fangs.

"I mean, what was _that_ about?"

Washington threw the flag back into the case and dug around some more "Let's just say that we'd met before, and it hadn't ended well."

"Hadn't ended well like you insulted his mother?"

"More like shot him and his entire team and left them for dead." Washington pulled out the broken-off head from a gravity hammer.

"Damn."

Washington settled back on his haunches. "What I'm wondering is how someone I left to rot in the sand, was able to ambush us."

"Oh yeah. That's an alien thing. They don't treat life and death the same way we do."

"Great. I wish I had known _that_ before I let the Meta desecrate their corpses."

"Damn...not _cool_ man." Tucker actually sounded offended. "What did they ever do to you?"

"They...uh didn't give us directions?" Washington knew how hollow the excuse was.

"Seriously?" Since it was coming from Tucker, of all people, the outrage annoyed the Freelancer drop-out.

"They also drew an insulting picture!"

"What, are you _twelve_?"

Washington sighed. "I don't have to explain myself to you. It had been a very hard week."

Tucker took a step back. "Right. You know... _this_ has been a hard week. You gonna snap and kill all of _us_?

Washington turned away from the crate to stare coldly at his companion. "Are you going to give me a reason to?"

A long uncomfortable silence was broken by Caboose rushing into the base, bouncing with excitement.

"Church! I found secret snow tunnel that leads to another snow tunnel that leads to a more bigger snow tunnel that leads to an outside that has a...and this is the best part... a snow _fort_! You should come out and see it! It's just like the Kimono's use! Outside!" Washington didn't reply. "Hey, um, hey Church? Hey. Church? Church?"

He started with a quiet intensity that built force until Washington was shouting. "For the last time Caboose. Stop calling me that! I'm _not_ Church! Okay? Church is _gone_! I'm not your buddy and I'm not your pal. I'm just here because, for a moment, I thought this was marginally better than prison. So stop hanging around me expecting a pat on the head, because I've got more important things to do than help you find orange juice or a swimming pool or whatever new idiotic fantasy has latched onto your one firing brain cell. I don't have the time." He glared at Caboose, then at Tucker. "Apparently _joining_ this team meant that I would have to do everything for you useless, brain-dead morons. So leave me alone."

During the tirade Sister woke, sat up and yawned. She watched as Caboose backed slowly away from Washington. Then- head slumped, shoulders bowed- the blue soldier walked slowly out of the base.

Washington glared at the two remaining troopers. "What are you looking at?" He snapped, defensively.

Tucker tugged on Sister's arm, pulling her to her feet. "Hey Sis! I've got a great idea! Why don't we go see what your brother and baby daddy are up to? That way we don't get savagely beaten to death by any so-called teammates." Tucker glanced back at Washington as he herded Sister to the door. "I think we've had enough team kills on our side to last us a while."


	9. Double Date

Simmons had completely lost all sensation in his hands, and was now fumbling with conduits by sight alone. It was getting hard to see because he kept shivering, and his visor's defrost was weak. He was just about to call it quits and curl up into a trembling maroon ball of hypothermic misery, when the orange ball of misery in the corner groaned and twitched.

"Uhhh what happened?" Grif moaned.

"R-r-rise and shine, sleeping beauty." Simmons said through chattering teeth. "Wait, I mean, chubby dipshit."

Grif stumbled to his feet. "Where are we?"

"Alien bases."

"How did I get here?"

" _Somebody_ had to carry you." Simmons didn't see the point in in adding that the 'someone' was Caboose.

Grif rubbed his shoulder plates. "Why is it fucking freezing?"

"You know what? I preferred you unconscious."

"Why did I pass out?"

Simmons stopped working to stare at Grif. "You _seriously_ don't remember?"

"Nope."

"Wow. That has to be the fasted repressed memory of all time."

"What memory?" Grif asked.

"You fainted when Sarge got engaged to your Sister." Simmons said, then watched as Grif's knees buckled and bent until he was crouched on the floor. "Grif, you going to pass out again?"

"The room...it's spinning... so fast." Grif gasped. He stared at his boots breathing deeply on the point of hyperventilating until the dizzy spell passed. He looked around the room. "Wait. Where _is_ my Sister?"

"Blue base."

Grif stood up. An edge of panic was in his voice. "And where is Sarge?"

"He left. Said he had something to take care of."

"Oh shit! Simmons, quick!" With surprising speed Grif dashed from the Red Base.

X X X X

Sister and Caboose were standing on top of the Blue Base, surveying the compound as well as their limited intelligence was able. Here and there were outcroppings of rocks, and near the back door of the base was a pair of squat round generators sticking up out of the snow. The fence of protective turrets carving out a semicircle by the grey cliffs clearly demarcated the place beyond which civilization, even alien civilization, ended.

Tucker was pacing up right to the edge of it, trying to get better reception for his long range radio.

Sister stretched, then looked over at Caboose, who was uncharacteristically subdued. The blue soldier still hadn't bounced back from his tongue lashing. "Wow. That one guy. He can be a real asshole."

"Agent Washington?" Caboose nodded. "Yeah. He was part of a top secret military operation that implanted him with an Artificial Intelligence that went crazy inside his head. And he got shot by his friends, and had to fight a lot of mean girls, and crazy monster people with bad roommates, and a mean boss." Caboose stared at his boots as if he was trying to catch a glimpse of the new blue leader through the glass roof. "And then he went to prison."

"Still, an asshole." Sister inhaled sharply and pressed her hand against her side. "Oooh."

"What? What is it?" Caboose asked. "Did you just remember something? That happened to me once."

"No." She glared down at her belly. " _Someone_ is kicking me again."

"Well it's not me- Ahhhh." Caboose caught on. Sister's hand was still on her stomach. "What's it feel like?"

"Like my body has been invaded by a squirmy, growing kick boxer that makes me have to pee all the time."

"Oh." Caboose was still staring. "Can I feel?" He asked.

"Sure." Sister grabbed his hand and held it to her stomach.

Caboose gaped. "Wow, that's-" A shotgun stock to the back of the head from out of nowhere dropped him.

"Hey!" Sarge shouted at the Blue. "You keep your mitts off my fiancée you dirty rotten-"

Sister pressed both hands against her stomach and hissed. "Oooohhh."

"What!?" Sarge stopped beating on Caboose. "Are you in labor?"

Sister shook her head. "No, but it's really kicking now. I think he likes you hitting that guy."

"Really?" Sarge looked down at his prone 'enemy'. He rammed the butt of his shotgun against Caboose's chin. Caboose teetered on the edge of the base, then fell backwards, tumbling down the backside of the base and into the snow.

"Ow." Caboose said.

Sister gasped and nearly doubled over. "Oooh. Little bastard is trying to curb stomp my ribs."

"Hm." Sarge scrutinized her. "I guess it really is my kid after all!" The silence between the two stretched out into an awkward pause.

"So, um were you spying on me?" Sister asked coyly.

Sarge rubbed the back of his helmet. "Well I uh..."

"Cuz that's kinda hot!"

"Oh. Um. Heh." Sarge coughed, staring around for something familiar to change the subject. Finally his eyes latched on something 'safe.' "That gun there." he pointed to her holstered sidearm. "The one with the knives."

"Yeah!" Sister pulled it up. "I found it in the sand! Wanna see?" She handed Sarge the massive handgun.

"Whew, that's heavy" Sarge gasped, then added quickly, "I mean for a _girl_." He lifted it to chest height and sighted down the barrel. "You're strong enough to lug this around?"

"Sure!" Sister grabbed the gun from him and held it out in firing position.

"Wow, Impressive upper body strength. Whatta ya do? Pushups? That Pilates thing?"

"Naw, nothing like that. Just, you know, the normal stuff. Cheerleading, keg-stands, wet T-shirt hand-standing contests. Anyway. I think this is like, a nail gun or something. Because it totally shoots these spike things. Wanna see?" She pulled the trigger and a spike embedded itself in the snow by Caboose's head, a tiny puff of steam rising from the melted ice.

Sarge moved behind her to follow her line of sight."Hm. Not bad, but you see, with projectiles like this you gotta lead the target. And you've gotta pull the trigger on the exhale...Let me show you." He held her elbows and started re-positioning her arms, then her hips.

Between the bases, near the shadow of the cliff, was an outcropping of boulders. An orange helmet popped up from behind one of these rocks and peered through a sniper rifle at the two figures atop Blue Base. "See! This is just what I was afraid of!" Grif zoomed in on Sarge and Sister. "Damn. This is not good."

A maroon helmet popped up next to the orange one. "What's not good?"

Grif handled the sniper rifle to Simmons. "Look. Just look at them."

"They're just talking." Simmons said, peering through the scope. There was a pop of gunfire and a whimper from the shadow of Blue base. "Okay, and now they're shooting at Caboose."

"They're talking Simmons. _Talking_. This is terrible."

"I don't know Grif," Simmons zoomed in on Sarge again carefully correcting Sister's stance. "They actually look kinda happy."

"They do?" The orange soldier snatched the sniper rifled to see for himself. "Shit! Then strike the terrible. This is cataclysmic."

"Why?"

"We've got to get them away from each other." Grif's was pleading. "Simmons, you have to help me!"

"But why?" Simmons asked again.

"Why? Have you lost it completely? That's our Sergeant over there...with my Sister."

Simmons paused. "But aren't they engaged?"

"Exactly. And every second they spend together moves that wedding slightly further from the magical realm of 'Never Going to Happen in a Million Years'."

Simmons still seemed unsure. "But they look _happy_."

Grif sighed. He talked slowly, presenting his case as if he were talking to a 'special' child, or even Caboose. "Simmons. Let's take what I know about my sister, and put it with what years of brown-nosing have taught you about Sarge. My sister, and I'm saying this with all brotherly love, is a drug addled, disease ridden, semi-moron. And Sarge is?"

Simmons answered instantly. "A great leader! An inspiration to all his men. A gruff but kind father figure."

"Sometimes I wish I wasn't too lazy to kill you." Grif muttered. "Alright, if you won't say it. He's a blood-thirsty, brain-damaged, psychopath! Do you know what'll happen if they get married, Simmons?"

He thought. "A reaffirmation of the importance of a traditional nuclear family for a stable society?"

"How about nuclear war?" Grif retorted. "How about the kind of murder suicides you only see on Law and Order? How about freakin' Judge Judy?" He pointed toward Blue Base. "Simmons, can you look me in the eye and tell me, seriously, that you think either of them should be married. To anyone. _Ever_."

Reluctantly, Simmons followed Grif's finger back to Sarge and Sister.

"Okay. Now let's try that from a kneeling position!" Sarge said.

Sister giggled. "Sure!" She reloaded her spike gun. "I know all kinds of positions!"

"Really?" Sarge helped her to her knee. "Do you know the prone, fallback, double-fisted hip-shot?"

"No, never heard of that one before...sounds kinda hot."

Sarge laughed, "Well, only if you try it with flame throwers."

Simmons sighed. "Okay. So what's your plan?" He asked Grif.

Grif counted off on his fingers. "Break them up. Get my sister out of here. And sell the baby to Jolie-Pitt Celebrity Adoption Agency."

"Split the money 50-50%?"

Grif made his counter-offer. "80-20, I'm the uncle after all."

"60-40." Simmons demanded. "Or I walk."

"Fine." Grif slid back from the rock face. "Now let's get to work."

Caboose had finally managed to find refuge from being used for target practice in some kind of rectangular tunnel-like hanger sunk between the bases. Their live target out of easy range, Sister and Sarge made their way down from the base's roof.

Sarge offered Sister his hand as they took the last step from the roof to the ground. "So uh... miss?" Sarge sighed. "Look, I'm still trying to figure out what I should call you?"

She shrugged. "Everyone around here calls me Sister?"

"And that is unsettling for a number of reasons." He offered her an elbow, but she either didn't see it or, more likely, had no idea what it was for, so they walked side by side.

"The mean guy keeps calling me Private Grif." Sister suggested, as they trudged leisurely over the hard packed snow and ice.

Sarge shook his head. "I don't think I can use that name for someone I can't punch in the face."

"Well, back at the old place you usually called me-"

Sarge quickly cut her off. "I mean, now. In public. Don't you have a...a first name?"

Sister cocked her head to the side, flabbergasted. "Wow. None of my old boyfriends have ever asked me _that_ before."

"Well?"

"Kaikaina."

It was Sarge's turn to be confused. "Kekawhatsit?"

"Kaikaina."

Sarge worked through the name silently. "Um you got like a nickname for that? What did your mom used to call you?"

"You mean worthless skank?"

"Nooo...I mean something shorter than Kallykookoo."

"Kaikaina."

"Kyleywhonow?"

"Ummmm." Sister thought back. "My grandpa, he used to call me Kitty."

"Kitty huh?" Sarge nodded. "That might work."

"Yeah, he always said that I reminded him of one of his favorite things."

"He liked cats?" Sarge asked.

"Yeah," Sister answered, cheerily. "He always said there was nothing better than a nice soft pussy."

"Wait, what?" Sarge had a brief coughing fit. "On second thought... Let's just keep it simple. Uhhhh...Kay, how's that sound?"

Sister considered. "Kay. Yeah, that'll work! But what should I call you?"

"Whadda ya mean? I'm Sarge."

"But don't you have a real name too?"

"What kinda stupid question is that?" Sarge laughed.

"Well should I call you S-dog? Like when we were-"

Sarge cut off her question with more coughing.

"So, you're super old." Sister said, bluntly.

"Is that going to come up in all our conversations?" Sarge grumbled.

"Sorry."

He wagged a cautionary finger at her "Just remember, it's like Indiana Jones says: It's not the years, it's the number of men you've beaten to death with your bare hands. By that count I'm still the tender age of twelve."

"Do you have any kids?"

He cleared his throat and gestured vaguely at her. "Present company excluded?"

"Yeah. I mean like, other kids, older kids?"

"Hm. Not unless I have some I don't know about."

"We're you ever married?" She asked.

"Hmpf," Sarge gazed off to the blinding white horizon. "When I was a romantic lad of seventeen a recruiting poster proposed to me and I married myself off to the Army. I was faithfully devoted to her, as she tossed me from ships in orbit, injected me with fringe science, made me take all these long epilepsy tests with the flashing lights, shipped me to Red Bases all over the universe, put me in charge of worthless turds, and fed me MRE's." He sighed mournfully and hung his head. "And then I learned that she'd been cheating me for decades."

"Wow. You _always_ followed the Army rules?"

He stared at her. "Miss Kay, you wouldn't be standing in front of me now if I did."

"Thats kinda sw-"

"Yup! I would have killed you years ago." Sarge said, matter-of-fact. "And picketed your corpse outside of my base, and taken your helmet as a trophy. It's all there in the Red Army handbook."

"Oh."

He nodded his head, gravely serious. "But, Kay, my momma taught me to never, ever, hit a girl. Not even with small arms fire. No matter what color she wore. Hittin' girls is women's work, she said."

"Wow. She sounds tough." Sister replied.

"Yup," Sarge's chest puffed out with pride, "She was the leader of the city's deadliest gang."

"Really, which one?" Sister asked. "Crips? Bloods? Martian Kings?"

"Nope. Thirteenth chapter of the PEO sisterhood."

Sister rocked back on her heels. Stunned. "Woah."

"I watched once as they dealt with a member that had revealed the sacred secret meaning of their name." He sounded faintly haunted. "I'll never look at a curling iron the same way." A soft, choked off gasp from Sister snapped Sarge out of his memories. Sister was standing rigidly, and not really looking at him anymore. "You okay?" Sarge asked anxiously.

"What?" Sister shook her head. "Yeah, sorry. Just getting kicked in the ribs." She stared down and growled. "Again."

"Ah..." Sarge nodded, and silence prevailed as the hereto unspoken of third person in the room suddenly became center of attention.

They had reached the bunker-like entrance to the cave under the ice: a rectangular ramp of grey cold steel leading down to a large, dim room. The addition of a roof over their heads had brought in an unexpected element of privacy. Sister was acting shy, and the clumsy way she was going about it indicated that she didn't have much experience feeling inhibited.

"You got any names?" she asked. "Lopez gave me a book of names. But I don't really like Juan or Maria." She put her hands on her hips and pouted. "And he made me sign a contract saying I couldn't name it Apple or Trinity."

He mulled it over. "Is it a boy or a girl?"

Sister shrugged. "Do you care one way or the other?"

"Why I want a son of course!" Sarge answered. "To carry on the proud family rank of Sergeant."

"What if it's a girl?'

"Hmmm...I _guess_ I could love a girl the same way I could love a boy." Sarge conceded. "I mean, if that's what's there then I guess I'll have to make do."

Sister laughed. "I said the same thing at college!"

"Yeah I...Wait, what?" Sarge stopped. "You went to college?"

"Yup, I took a semester and a half at Honolulu Hills Community College."

"What did you study?"

"Massage therapy, but I flunked out." Sister sighed. "It was really hard. My teacher tried to help me. Let me practice all these advanced techniques on him, gave me hours of extra credit work, but I kept failing for some reason. I had to retake his class like, three times, and by then I was out of money."

"Ah, so that's how you learned to-" Sarge trailed off, looking down at his boots in embarrassment.

"Yup." She turned to walk farther in and further down the ramp into the cave.

He followed after her. "Ahuh...so listen Miss Kay." It was Sarge's turn to be shy. "When, when we we're in Blood Gulch, um, in um 'conjugal congress'?"

She faced him. "What?" Sister asked. "Wait, you mean the sex part?"

"Yeah." Sarge cleared his throat again. "Did you know it was me?"

"Of course I knew it was you." Sister sounded confused. "Who else would you be?"

"No, I mean, did you know that that it was _me_? Sarge, from Red Team?"

"Oh, well, yeah." Sister replied, "Eventually."

"Eventually?"

"I mean, after the first couple times, sure. I knew it was you. I mean, you only took off your helmet."

"I thought it was the perfect disguise." Sarge muttered. "Besides, I didn't know you had a taste for distinguished gentlemen."

"You mean I called you old and gross?"

"Hmpf." Sarge pouted.

"Well... I didn't want to say something." Sister explained, "You never like, talked to me during the day or anything. Except when you were yelling at me from across the canyon. And calling me a tramp." She pouted. "It was super confusing, you know, because of the sex part. So most of the time I wondered if _you_ knew it was _me_. "

"Sure I knew it was you!" Sarge said.

"Then why did you...?"

"Keep your friends close and your enemies closer! And so I took it to the next logical step." Sarge paused. "Which, in retrospect, may have been a step too far. I was spying on you nearly 24-7 at that point, and I thought, I should get a man on the inside."

"Kinky."

"Not like that! Well, not at _first_. Look, it made perfect sense at the time! Especially after I'd had a few drinks. I would even watch you while you were passed out, all curled up beside me, your cheek resting on your little hand, just to make sure you were oka- I mean not up to anything."

"Wow." Sister gasped. "Just like in Twilight."

"What about the part where I held your hair while you vomited? Is that from Twilight?"

"Hmmm." Sister drummed her fingers against her stomach. "Not until the fourth book."

An awkward, but charged, silence reigned again, as both of them suddenly realized that the gap between them had closed to almost nothing over the course of the conversation. Sister hesitated for a moment, before reaching up to touch Sarge's helmet. Sarge stood rooted to the spot. "You know..." She said, her hand trailing down the side of his visor. "I haven't seen you with this off..." Her fingers rested under his chin, where his body suit met the armor. "For a long time." Sarge tried to take a step back, only to find a wall of grey metal at his heels.

Sarge's hand found its way to her elbow. With his other hand he brushed a knuckle against her side. "Goldilocks, I-"

"I thought you said you weren't calling me that anymore." She was so close that something between them was kind of getting in the way, but in a way that felt right. Her fingers were running along the bottom rim of the helmet, searching for the seals, but too slowly to be aggressive, more like she was mesmerized.

"Well I-" Sarge leaned in, as if seeking out an answer. Sister now had her hands on his breastplate. Their visors were almost touching, like a mirror leaning in to kiss itself.

Sister stiffened suddenly, then doubled over, sucking in air through her teeth. "Sonnovabitch." She gasped out.

"What! What is it?" Sarge grabbed her arm to help steady her. "Are you in labor?"

"No. Don't think so." Her voice came in clipped little bites. "Doc said that these...that these...This is that...that Branson Hicks thing." She puffed air and kneaded her stomach with her free hand.

"What?"

"Yeah." She said. Sarge was frozen, this time in terror. "It.. it it's just like...like a cramp... should stop pretty soon." Soon felt like an eternity to Sarge. But eventually she put a hand to her back and slowly pulled herself straight. "Ahh... There."

"You're-You're okay? Really?" Sarge studied her.

"Yeah really. I'm okay. You." She paused, then cocked her head. "You were really worried there, weren't you?"

"I'm takin' you back to your base." Sarge barked. "And then, I'm calling Doc."

X X X

The underpass behind the bases had a lot of things going for it. It was out of the sun. It was out of the wind. And it was out of firing range of the roof of Blue Base. But all of these wonderful things paled in comparison to what Caboose was now looking at. Looking at so intently that he didn't hear anyone until they were right behind him, sighing mournfully.

"Hello?" Caboose turned from his newest find. "Hello is anyone there?"

Washington emerged from the shadows. "Hi Caboose." His voice was soft, and just a hint sheepish.

"Oh, Hi Ch-" Caboose stopped himself, and amended with a plain: "Hi." He turned back. Before him was a rounded purple alien motorcycle.

Washington walked so he was standing next to where Caboose was crouching. "What did you find there? An alien vehicle? That could come in handy."

"Yeah. I thought so too." Caboose still seemed, sedate. Way too calm for Caboose.

"We could use-"

"But I was wrong." He sighed, and stood up. "She isn't very friendly." He leaned over and whispered loudly. "I don't even think it's a real lady."

"Ummm. What?"

"Yeah. I thought that since this was a vehicle and we were at New Blue Base, that maybe she was a nice lady, like Shelia."

"The onboard training program from your tank?"

"Yeah. Shelia. I wish that she was here, she could help." Caboose looked off into the distance. "I could ask her all about girls and babies and baby showers and girl stuff. She was the nicest most normal girl I ever knew."

"The onboard training program from your tank?"

"Yeah."

"Was the most normal girl you ever knew?

"Yeah."

"What about Private Gri-- I mean Sister? ...or Tex? ...or...uh...South Dakota? Damn." Washington thought. "Donut?"

"Yeah, so I saw this motorcycle, and I thought that maybe she could be my friend, like Shelia. Well not exactly like Shelia, because you know, she and I, we have a history. I miss her sometimes." He paused then mumbled. "A lot."

Washington shifted his weight, uncomfortable. "Yeah."

"Yeah. I'm always missing a lot of things like Shelia, and Church, and Andy."

"Andy?"

"And Tex, and Crunchbite, and Corporal Pillsbury. And my mitten."

"That. That's a lot of things...people...to miss."

"Yeah. The only person I don't ever miss is Tucker. I never miss Tucker, except when I'm aiming directly at him."

"Oh."

Caboose sounded further and further away. Like he was losing a grip on his voice as he lost his hold on reality. "Yeah. And Church said...he said...before he went. He said that I had to remember what Delta said. Memory is the key."

"Yeah...Uh...I remember that. But I thought we were done with that part."

"You know, that's what I said. But then he said that that meant that it was my job to remember him. Why would he say that?" Caboose stared blankly at the Alien vehicle, then crouched beside it again. "I'm still trying to figure it out."

"That." Washington paused, as if hesitating to get involved. "That sounds like good advice." He crouched down next to Caboose, but couldn't bring himself to look at him. "It's important to remember your friends, because if you remember them, then they're not really gone."

"Like, like I did before?" Caboose perked up. "With Epsilon and the memory unit? With all the stories and the burning part?"

"Uh... yeah Caboose. Like you did before. Sure. Except for whatever the burning part is. Don't do that."

"Okay, But I should remember everyone like I remembered Church? Shelia, and Andy, and Tex and Lopez, and Donut and Church, Remember everything for them?" Caboose asked.

Washington put his hand to his side, where he had the pouch for his extra ammo clips. "Sometimes that's all we can do for our friends is remember them." He said, and felt the outline of York's lighter through the material.

"Great! I'll get started right away!" Caboose chirped. He sprang to his feet and ran from the vehicle. Washington watched him go. Then stood there staring. Too absorbed in thought and memory to examine the alien motorcycle. Too preoccupied to see a tiny red light on the console of the motorcycle, blinking.


	10. A Ball Named Tex

This time Sarge wouldn't let chivalric ignorance get in the way of giving Sister a steadying arm. He had grabbed her hand and looped it through his elbow himself and held it gently but firmly all the way back to Blue Base. He would've had much easier job of protecting her from the ever present danger of uneven terrain, slick ice, and powdery snow, if she would've stopped using her thumb to caress the side of his hand while she looked up at him dreamily. He led her to the wide side door of the base, but they stopped at the threshold.

"Well," Sarge barked, dropping her arm. "Here we are." He paused. "Back at Blue Base."

"Yeah. I guess."

"So..." Sarge shifted his weight from foot to foot. "Uh... I was just going to call the Doc..." Sister nodded. "So I better go back to my base... Red Base. And leave you here. At your base." He paused again. "Blue Base." He turned to go.

Sister reached out to him. "Do you…?" Sarge stopped. But then she dropped her hands "I mean, yeah..." She nodded, resigned. "I guess."

"What?" He asked.

Sister shrugged. "It's just. This all feels so wrong. Don't you think?"

"Oh." Sarge sagged like he'd been punched.

Sister grabbed his hand. "We're gonna get married, and we haven't even lived together!" She cried. "There's gotta be a law against that... right?" She tugged him toward the force- fielded entrance. "Why don'tcha stay here? Please?"

Sarge reluctantly resisted. "Kay I-"

"Come on!" She gripped his hand with both hers. "We got hot water! Don't you wanna shower? With me?"

"Listen Missy, I- Wait, what?" He considered. "Well I gues- No." He shook his head and waved her off with his free hand. "I need ta go call Doc. And you need to get into your base, and do whatever women in your condition need to do. Avoid lifting things and knitting I'm guessing."

Sister sighed her disappointment. "Okay...yeah. But you'll come by again later, right?" She asked.

Sarge rubbed the back of his neck bashfully. "Auhh... yeah. Sure."

"Okay great!" She dropped his hands. "Bring that big, long gun of yours all loaded and stuff, and I'll show you some of _my_ positions!" She ran into the base giggling.

"Sure...wait what?"

XXX

Grif was pacing the floor. "And step seventy-eight: While you're cradling his dying body in your arms you should say something like, "You can't die, you're going to be a father." And then he'll probably say, "No, you are." Pretend to agree with this..." Grif paused. "Are you paying attention?" He asked Simmons.

Simmons looked up from where he'd been tinkering with broken generator in Red Base. "Paying attention?" He scoffed.

"Yes! To my plan to break up Sarge and my sister!"

"You just repeated the plot of _Pearl Harbor_!" Simmons snapped.

"So? It'll probably work."

"It involved being shot by the Japanese!"

Grif sighed. "Do I need to start from the top again?"

"No." Simmons stood. "Look. Just. _No._ You're terrible. Your ideas are terrible. And I don't even know if I want to be part of this."

"Simmons! You have to help!" Grif's voice was shrill. "It's like my worst nightmare had a bad dream, and then _that_ dream had a panic attack!" He started pacing again, and was already breathing heavy from the overexertion.

"Okay! I get it!" Simmons surrendered. "Enough with the complaining! What are we going to do about it?"

"Well," Grif pointed at his teammate. " _You're_ the plans guy. Think of something."

"She's _your_ sister." Simmons countered.

Grif thought for a moment. "Okay. Fine. So, step one, you overhear a rumor that an ancient Mayan doomsday prophecy actually accurately predicts the cataclysmic after-effects of the earth's magnetic-"

"Stop." Simmons demanded. "Before you recap any more bad movies, why don't you just talk to your Sister?"

"Talk to her?"

"Yeah, just tell her how you're feeling. After all, she doesn't know Sarge like we do."

"Yeah," Grif muttered, "She knows him in all kinds of horrible and..." he shuddered. "Gah! I think I'm gonna throw up in my helmet."

"Talk to her." Simmons repeated. "Make her see reason."

"See _reason_? My sister can't even see purple."

"Okay, well... convince her in a way that she can understand."

"But I don't even have any Tequila."

"Dammit, Grif." Simmons groaned. "Just go tell your sister everything you hate about Sarge. Or at least your top twenty. She's bound to hate at least some of the same things. She's related to you."

"What, like genetics?"

"Sure," Simmons replied, flatly. "Why not. _Genetics_."

Grif considered Simmons' reasoning. "Hmmm...I guess this plan does involve the least physical effort on my part. And we don't even have to talk to Sarge. Great! So we have a plan!"

"And what if this doesn't work? What's our plan B?"

"Plan B? Dammit, Simmons, isn't it enough that I have a vague goal that I'm actively roping other people to work towards? Don't push me!"

X X X 

Blue Base had been ransacked. Or at least the few boxes inside had been rummaged through. Washington was assessing one of the ammo crates, puzzling over the feeling that something was missing from it.

Tucker walked in through the shimmering force-field door, talking out loud, but ignoring his teammate. "So, I'm really sorry Champ but it looks like Daddy's going to miss this weekend too... Yeah, I know, it totally sucks blarg. But Daddy's stranded in an arctic wilderness with a bunch of asshonks... I promise, I'll make it up to you. I got a box of illegal fireworks, and a video game with realistic blood effects and full frontal nudity. I'll give 'em to you if you promise to do what you're supposed to and make your uncle miserable... Yep. Uh-huh... Daddy loves you too. Blarg." Tucker disconnected the call.

"Calling your... son... again?" Washington asked.

"Yeah. I was hoping that Uncle Asshole would be able to come pick us up."

"And?"

Tucker sighed. "He said his schedule looked full up, and it would put a bunch of light-years on his slip-space engines, which would totally trash the resale value, _and_ he would have to find a sitter for Junior because he's got fucking alien school but he said he would try to get out here if he could, maybe." Tucker grumbled. "Goddamn, I _hate_ that slimy green fucker. You let a kid drink a wino's blood one time, and it's like suddenly you're some kind of-"

Washington interrupted him. "So you _don't_ think we'll be getting a ride from him then?"

Tucker snorted. "I would give it my icy-chilled balls' chances in hell."

"Well, Doc hasn't returned any of my messages." Washington said. "I even tried calling the bases at Valhalla directly. He would have had plenty of time to get there by now. Nothing. What on earth could he be doing?

Tucker shrugged. "Burying your victims by hand maybe? We didn't have shovels, and it's not like he was gonna shoot them a grave. That was _your_ job."

Washington glared at him. "You know, your smart mouth is going to get you killed someday. Has anyone ever told you that?"

Tucker snorted. "You want me to list chronologically or alphabetically?"

"Why me?" Washington muttered to himself.

"News flash: I treat everybody like this." Tucker explained. "I mean, everybody I'm not trying to hook up with. Just in case you were feeling _special_." He started toward the entrance to the ice cave.

"Wait Tucker." Washington called him back. "I've been meaning to talk to you."

"Is this a 'talk' talk, or a 'yell-at-me-and-threaten-to-murder' me talk?"

"And in the interest of _not_ killing you, I'm going to ignore that. I was just wondering, seeing as you appear to be somewhat more sane-"

"Finally!" Tucker cried. "Somebody notices."

"At least when compared to _other_ simulation troopers." Washington amended. "Did you go through deprogramming?"

"What? Like a computer?"

"Yes... I mean no...I mean." Washington paused to think. "I heard they reassigned you as an alien ambassador. Before they put you on that assignment, did they...debrief you...in any way?"

Tucker was confused. "They talked to me."

"And what about giving you an injection and strapping you in a chair in a dark room, then forcing you to stare at flashing lights?" Washington asked.

"You mean the epilepsy test?" Tucker scoffed. "I got that during basic."

"But not since then?"

"Why would I need to take an epilepsy test twice? That thing took like, four hours anyway, or four... days...It's kinda hard to remember for some reason." Tucker cocked his head, "Why do you ask anyway?"

Washington was nonchalant. "No reason." He looked down and snagged the flag from the ammo crate. "Ah. Hey I found a Blue flag in this base. I was thinking of giving it to Sarge."

"What? You can't do that!" Tucker protested.

"Why not?"

"Because it-"

Suddenly, Washington raised his gun and pointed it behind and beyond Tucker. "Oh my gosh! The reds have infiltrated the base!" He shouted.

Tucker whirled around, his gun raised. "Where?"

"Hmmm... " Washington was giving Tucker an appraising look.

"You know what?" Tucker snapped. "You're a dick."

"Just doing a little fact finding." Washington explained.

"Well, the facts are in. And you're a dick."

Washington ignored the insult, and instead looked back into the shuffled through ammo crate. "Have you seen Caboose?"

X X X

Grif couldn't decide if he was disappointed finding Sister in front of her Base rather than inside it. On the one hand, he would have talked to anybody about anything if it meant that he got to stand next to a heater. On the other hand, he couldn't quite shake the aversion to waltzing alone into anything labeled 'Blue Base.'

Sister seemed completely lost in deep thought. Which wasn't surprising, since thought- for her- was pretty unfamiliar terrain. She didn't seem to notice Grif until her was right beside her.

"Heya, Sis. How're ya doin'?" he asked.

She looked up at him and rubbed her belly absentmindedly. "Okay. I guess."

"You feeling okay?"

"Oh, you know; fat, hungry, sleepy..."

"Sounds familiar. So listen...I was meaning to talk to you. About this whole 'engagement 'thing."

Sister perked up. "Yeah. It's freakin' awesome!"

"Awesome isn't really the word I would use." Grif grumbled, "Look, I mean, I know that you're excited about getting married, but you do know that you'll be marrying Sarge, right?"

"So?"

"He's...he's... like...the man is older than dirt. Really super old dirt. Like the stuff they scrape off of dinosaur bones."

"He's not _that_ old." Sister protested.

"He has an 8-track player in his helmet."

"But he's nice to me!" Sister said, then leaned in and added in husky tones, "Plus, he can do this thing with his pinky..."

"Don't need to hear it!" Grif put his hands to the sides of his helmet. "Gah la la la la la!" He sang loudly. When it seemed safe he dropped his arms, more determined than ever. "Look. I've known Sarge for a lot longer than you have. I just don't think you two are going to get along. And marriage, I hear that's _supposed_ to be until death do you part. Even at Sarge's age, you're still looking at like, two -maybe three- _years_ of having to be married."

Sister shook her head. "No, here's the best part! See, Sarge told me that a long time ago he was in some kind of top secret Onion project and they injected him with all this science stuff. So he is _super_ healthy. He could live longer than you!"

Now Grif was profoundly depressed, and it took him a moment to get back on task. "Yeah...about that, you remember what the judge said about willfully transmitting communicable diseases? If you infect one more person they're classifying you as a biological weapon."

"Nu uhhh," Sister retorted, "I tested clean for six months. Plus Sarge said he's got Boring Syndrome or something? He can't even catch anything contagious! It's awesome."

"Okay." Grif grumbled, frustrated, as he tried to think of a new angle. "Well, Sarge is a pretty strict guy, and if you're going to be raising a baby, he's probably gonna want to put you on a short leash."

"Kinky."

Grif shuddered. "No! I mean. He's not going to want you out partying! And I can tell you right now he wouldn't want you out with other guys. You hear me? No more Craigslist hookups? No more Jell-O Shooter Tupperware parties? No more shoplifting glow sticks and moon-pies from Walgreens?"

"Meh." Sister shrugged.

"Meh?!" Grif panicked, "You just 'meh'ed' sixty percent of your life! Eighty percent, when you go on those Ritalin binges and forget to sleep."

"Yeah. But that was just because things were so boring, you know?" She said in her 'thoughtful' sounding voice again; the voice that was starting to terrify Grif. "And my friends all wanted to. I mean, I like it when boys notice me and stuff. But Sarge, it's like he notices me all the time, even when I have my bra on." She clasped her hands over her baby belly, almost daydreaming. "He's really nice and strong, and kinda scary. And I feel like around him, there's stuff I shouldn't do. And, I don't know..." She was thinking, actually _thinking_ , about it. "I guess that feels different, kinda nice." She leaned in toward Grif again, "And then sometimes we do that stuff anyway. And that feels..."

"Ah!" Grif grabbed the sides of his helmet again. "La la la la la la!"

"You know...he kinda reminds me of Dad." She said.

Grif dropped his hands in shock. "Dad?"

"Yeah, you know. If Dad wasn't fat, and didn't smoke, and had real job, and didn't smell like Schlitz beer, and hadn't been killed by bats."

"For the last time, Sis." Grif sighed, "He wasn't killed by bats! The Hawaiian Mafia beat him to death with a Louisville Slugger for welshing on a debt."

"Yeah. But that's not what you told me!" Sister protested.

"Yeah," Grif grumbled, sullenly. "Well Mom didn't exactly make things too clear to me at the time either." For a moment the siblings stood together in silence, remembering when they'd first started learning to fill the hole in their lives with alcohol, apathy, and Chocodiles.

"You still have those bat-swarm dreams that used to make you wet the bed?" Sister asked.

"Do you still have creepy sex with geriatrics that remind you of our dad?" Grif spat back.

"Does Susan Oahu still have a dick?" Sister snapped.

"You _didn't_ just go there!"

Sister put her hands on her hips, defiantly. "Oh, I went there! I went there, and I took pictures, posted them on Facebook, and tagged _you_ in every single one!"

"Well, Sarge is only marrying you because he thinks he has to!" Grif said. "And you know what? I'm _glad_ about it now!" He jabbed his finger at her. "Because, if taking care of you makes him just _half_ as miserable as you've made me over the years, you'll be making his life a hundred times harder than I _ever_ did. You're like the universe's best revenge!"

Sister rocked back on her heels, sputtering in anger. "Yeah, well, you only took care of me because you thought you had to. So I guess you and Sarge have a lot in common."

"You take that back right now!" Grif demanded.

"Yeah, you're right. _You_ did a shitty job! It's like mom said: you'll never be the 'man' of family, until you stop being such a little bitch!" Sister shouted. "So forget it!" She stomped off into her base.

Grif watched her go. Then turned on his radio. "Alright Simmons, we're going with Plan B."

" _But we don't have a plan B_."

"Alright Simmons, time for you to think of a Plan B."

" _Dammit._ "

Grif waited. "Well?"

" _Do you think that your sister understands the concept of monogamy?_ " Simmons asked.

"I don't think my sister can spell monogamy."

Simmons was silent, then asked, " _Can you spell monogamy?_ "

"I can spell, 'shut up, smart ass.'"

Simmons sighed. " _There's something we can try...Do you know where Tucker is?_ "

X X X

A huge black cable snaked it's way through the snowscape in front of Blue Base. At some point earlier a huge drift had formed over part of the cable, and frozen. The heat from the electricity passing through melted the snow and ice immediately surrounding the conduit, creating a tunnel through the drift. Above the entrance to this ice cave someone had recently posted a sign written on a sheet of old metal in blue crayon: "Caboses Bass; Stay Out."

Caboose crouched in the cave, taking stock of the collection of six items arranged around him, half broken, partially flickering broken bits of enigmatic alien technology. Near the exit was a pile of rejects, and scattered across the floor was an assortment of tools, bits of wire, and chunks of 'projects.' "Okay everybody...pay attention." He started. "I've brought you all together for a very important...key...thing. But if we're going to get this done we have fast work and I'm only going to cover things once! So everyone listen careful so we don't mess this up. And the first one of you to catch fire has to sit in the time out chair. Except if I catch on fire. Then all of you are going in the corner."

"So...Once upon this one time, I had a best friend in the whole wide world, and his name was Church! That's you! "He pointed to a double-handled spherical object with a white light shaped like a cross on the top. "And he thought that I was the best, and I saved his life a couple times. And sometimes not." He added quieter. "But he always forgave me because ghost powers are pretty awesome. And we went on amazing adventures together."

Caboose turned so he was looking a large purplish ball with a white circle of light, and patches of black buttons. "And he had this really scary girlfriend who never liked punching me in the face while I was asleeping. Ever. And her name was Tex. Which was a funny name for a girl, but it wasn't really her name. She had a real name that she hardly ever used because people laughed at her. It was Nevada." He pointed to the ball. "And you're Tex.

"And for a while, you had a voice in your head, and that was O'Malley. And he hated Red Bull. And you needed to make a bomb as a present for him. So you took a proctologist robot and that thing you kept in your dresser that I totally never saw and definitely didn't use for electric toothbrush, and you made Andy." Caboose pointed to a smaller purple ball beside 'Tex' "And that's you!

"And Tex, there was this one time, before that time, that you were inside Shelia, and someone threw spiders on you and you blew up and died, and the spiderlady was our enemy Red Donut, and he was really nice." Caboose pointed to a triangular platform that was levitating on a beam of pinkish light generated by a black and lavender pyramidal base "And that's you! And you had a motorcycle, and knew how to make yummy cream-filled long-johns and liked to talk in spaniel with Lopez. And that was you!" He gestured to, flat, gear-shaped disk." And you were sometimes okay, but mostly you need to stay away from other people's special tank friends." Caboose turned to a short pedestal that held a flickering splay of shimmering light in scoop-shaped arms. "And you are my special tank friend, Shelia."

"Now that everyone knows who they are, can any of you tell me who I am?" Caboose asked.

"You're the hero who saves everybody by remembering stuff." 'Church' said.

"You're so much more attractive than other people, and know exactly how all my pedals work." 'Shelia' said.

"I think you're the best enemy ever! I love when we play fun games like stick ball together!" 'Donut' said.

"Hey, I'm a ball. And sometimes I tell people where to stick it!" 'Andy' said.

"Andy. That's not very nice." Caboose told him.

"Tacos, tacos, tacos. Bean dip. Funny hats." Said 'Lopez' in 'spaniel'.

'Donut' translated. "He says that he realized that he can never treat Shelia like the delicate flower she is. Only you can do that."

"Yes. You really know how to treat a lady. Only Tucker is getting punched his their sleep tonight." 'Tex' said.

"You're my best friend, Caboose." 'Church' said.

"That's right Church," Caboose patted the ball lit with the cross. "We'll be best friends forever. As long as I keep remembering stuff for you. Until you remember enough stuff to remember stuff for yourself again."


	11. In Flagrante Delicto

Washington was looking for Caboose. Grudgingly. For a long time, without really knowing why, he had fought the impulse to search for the missing Blue. But he'd finally managed to convince himself that he needed to find Caboose because of how dangerously stupid the Blue could be, and not for reasons of genuine concern for him. The Blue wasn't that hard to find, once Washington had spotted the badly spelled sign by the ice tunnel. Crouching beside the entrance, back to the ice, Washington peered around and into the dim cave.

Caboose was crouched within his semicircle of 'friends', one hand resting on the silver sphere with the glowing white cross, telling his stories. "But, then for a whole year I was stuck at high school again! And Principal Miller, he kept putting me in detention. And then, when that didn't work, he would tie me up and put me in detention."

He leaned next to 'Shelia' and added apologetically, "That was the first place where the cars kept catching on fire when I talked to them sometimes. I mean, they didn't always catch on fire, so I've gotten a lot better at that since then."

"But then Agent Washington came and we went on an adventure to find you Church." He pointed to 'Church.' "And the whole adventure, we didn't even find Tucker once. It was the best most wonderful adventure ever. We got to visit Freelancer City, and I met a glowing person Delta, and I even got to drive the car! And the best part was, our buddy club was together again! Without Tucker!"

"But they had to turn up an Amp, in order to destroy a scary people. And it erased you, Church, and Delta too. And I think you too, Tex." He said to the large purple sphere, "I was kinda sad for a while until I realized that Epsilon was really just sleeping, and if I talked to the giant purple egg that Washington gave me that it would hatch into a new Church. And so I talked and talked and talked and talked and burned and talked. And eventually I went to the desert, and fought some guys, and some aliens, and got a new Church. And it was great! I got to keep that Church for almost a whole week. He even took me to a talking tree and made a new Tex for us." Caboose paused, "Which..wasn't so great.

"But Tex, you left to find yourself; and Church, you went to help her, and you both got trapped in an egg that died. And I was sad, but then Wash told me to remember you guys." Caboose gestured to his friends, "And that's why I found a whole nest of new eggs!" Caboose declared, "And I am the dragon lord!"

X X X

The temperature in Red Base may have increased marginally over the last hour. A disgruntled man pacing and shouting in rage had generated heat better than Simmons' futile attempts at alien electrical repairs.

Doc's voicemail was a chipper and breezy as before. " _To repeat these options in Esperanto, press 7. For anything please leave a message after the beep._ "

At the sound of beep Sarge yelled, "Dammit Doc! This is my third message. You listen to me you purple pussyfooted pacifist! If you don't respond on the pronto, the next time I see you you'll be using buckshot as a pacifier. Because I'll shoot you!" He paused. "In the face!" He paused again. "With a shotgun!" His disconnected when he saw Simmons standing in front of him.

"Hey Sarge." He squeaked.

"Simmons."

"Listen, I am glad I found you." Simmons said, words clipped and every third word overemphasized. "I found something very interesting. In the ice caves below the base. I think that you should check it out. With me." He stood still, waiting. "Sometime in the next five minutes." Simmons stopped again, then turned deliberately and gestured to the doorway under the ice.

"Okay then." Sarge followed, skeptical. The tunnel turned as it curved downward, leading to the bunker under the snow where Sarge and Sister had talked. Before they were deep enough to get a good look at the whole bunker, Simmons stopped abruptly.

"Shhh! Listen." He said. "Do you hear something?" Ahead of them, they could just barely make out a yellow sliver, the back of Sister's armor.

"Heya Sis!" A voice called out from a tunnel parallel to theirs, where they couldn't see. The tunnel to Blue Base.

"Hi Tucker." Sister said.

"What are you up to?" Tucker asked, a little woodenly. "Looking so fine today?"

"Thanks for noticing! Just looking around, Simmons said-"

Tucker yelped suddenly, and then interrupted, "Yeah so listen. I've been trying to hold all these feelings back. But I just can't hide them anymore. I'm a lover not a hider. Girl you make me so hot, and I can't wait to peel that yellow armor off you, exposing the soft, sweet, inside, like some kind of sex banana." He stopped, there was the barely audible sound of someone clearing their throat expectantly. "And have sex with you." Tucker added.

"Wow." Sister said.

"Yeah. So what do you say? You and me, right here, right now. Sarge never has to find out?"

"Have you seen Sarge?" Sister asked, "I was talking to Simmons and-?"

"Ow!...I mean... Don't think about that old fogey. A young sweet thing like you needs something fresh and hot. Think about me, and you, just like old times. You can't have forgotten. You know what they say: once you go turquoise you'll throw out your sex toys."

"Aw shit." Sister muttered to herself.

"What?"

"I gotta pee again." From their vantage point they could see her start walking up the ramp and out the front of the bunker. "If you see Simmons, tell him I was looking for him." She called without looking back.

Simmons muttered under his breath. "Dammit."

"Simmons." Sarge growled. "Did you bring me down here specifically to overhear that conversation?"

"I don't know what you're talking about sir!"

"Simmons! Don't think I don't' see what's going on here!"

"Look it was all Gr-" Simmons squealed.

"You want her for yourself!"

"He was the-" he stopped as the words sunk in. "Wait, what?"

"I know that I said that she could pick you before." Sarge continued, "But that was because I would much rather have a son that was a Simmons than one that was a Grif."

"Sarge. I..." Simmons choked up. "You don't know how long I've been waiting to hear that."

Sarge remained focused. "But I gave her a choice! And she picked me! So you can't have her! Kay is mine you understand! That's my fiancée, who's about to bring my firstborn into the world! You may want her, hell, I don't blame you!" Sarge had Simmons backed up to the wall of the ice cave, and he was closing the gap between them at an alarming rate. "But don't even try to move in on my territory. I was there first!"

"Ummm, sir...I think that everyone else was there before you!"

He jabbed a finger at his subordinate's chest. "You can't have her! We're getting hitched. End of story! I'll kill any man who says otherwise."

"Um, well, what about a woman?" Simmons stammered.

"She just did that in college!"

"Wait, what?" Simmons shook his head, "I meant what if she decides she doesn't want you?"

"Doesn't want me?" Sarge asked, inches from Simmons' visor. "Ha! Ha! Like she'd want someone like _you_? Young, and intelligent, tidy and well-groomed and responsive to other people's feelings? Don't make me laugh!" And then Sarge did laugh. Loudly. And backed up just enough that he could point his shotgun at Simmons' chest. "You stay away from her!" He growled. "You hear me!? Just cuz' you're my second don't think I won't kill you first! But _slowly_." Sarge backed up the tunnel to Red Base, never lowering the gun and never taking his eyes off the trembling Simmons.

At the front of the tunnel to Blue Base, Tucker turned to look at Grif who was standing behind his back, aiming a sniper rifle at his head. "Can I go now?" Tucker asked.

Grif came skipping down the ice tunnel into the bunker. "Man this is great!" He said, not even a bit sarcastically. "Perfect!"

"Can I go now!?" Tucker asked again.

"What? Uh, yeah, great job and whatever." Grif said, "Hope you're not too disappointed she didn't go for it."

Tucker glanced sidelong at Simmons stumbling from the Red tunnel. "Um, in this case, I think I prefer living to boning. For now, at least." He practically ran back to the relative safety of Blue Base.

"Well that went terrible." Simmons said, trying to stop trembling.

"Terrible!? That went perfectly!" Grif rubbed his hands together gleefully, "We got Sarge right where we want him. Now all you have to do is go fuck my sister. Again."

"What? No!"

"Aww, come on." Grif wheedled, "You know you want to."

"No," Simmons spoke slowly, "What I _want_ is to do is keep the same quantity of cyber-catalytic fuel in my body as I have right now. So, I'm sorry, but I will not fuck your sister."

"Well, there's a first." Grif muttered. "Then just, grope her, hug her, go stand next to her. Anything. Believe me; she'll take care of the rest!"

"No." Simmons said, walking away.

"But Simmons-"

"I said no!" he shouted shrilly, and jogged up the ramp.

Grif stood alone in the bunker. "Well. Shit."

X X X

"I'll be right back guys! Gotta go get some more best-friends supplies." Caboose emerged from his cave in the ice. "And also, snacks," he added to himself. He stopped when he noticed Sister standing near the cave's entrance, staring at him. "Oh. Um, hello! Mrs. Gruff's Sister." he said, haltingly.

"Uh, did you get stupider in the last few hours?" She asked.

"Whelp! I'm working all by myself on a top super secret plan! So, yeah. Probably."

"Oh." Sister glanced over his shoulder into the cave. "Have you seen Sarge, or Simmons maybe?" she asked.

"Nope! No Sarge and- wait a second?" Caboose ducked his head back in the cave. "Hello? Have any of you seen Singe or Sargmond? Simmarge? Sarmmons?" He turned back to Sister and shook his head. "Nope, sorry. They have not come through the ice cave since the last time they came through the ice cave."

Sister sighed. "Okay." She sniffled to herself.

"Are you?" Caboose asked, "Wait!" He glanced around, watching for lurking spies that might have shotguns. "You're not getting kicked inside out again?"

"No, just. I really wanted a shower party, ya know?" She put her hands on her hips and glared down at the round stomach obscuring her feet. "At least once before I have this kid. But it doesn't look like I'm getting one."

"You mean...a baby shower?" Caboose asked.

"Yeah, that too." She agreed, "If you see Sarge just... never mind." She shuffled off in the direction of Blue Base.

Caboose pondered to himself for a moment. "Baby shower huh?" Hey ran into his ice cave. "Hey! Anyone in here know about baby showers?"

"Baby shower!" 'Donut' said in a muffled falsetto. "I am the greatest expert at showering with babies!"

"Thank you for volunteering Donut! Now, lets get to work."

X X X

Tucker entered Blue base to find Washington in the alcove, staring off into the middle distance, quiet, still and thoughtful. Tucker couldn't let this continue, "Hey there Agent Asshole," he said genially, "You would not believe what those fuckin' Red's just put me-"

"Do you think Caboose is acting weird?" Washington interrupted.

"Are you seriously asking me this?"

Washington turned to face Tucker. "Okay, do you think Caboose is acting different than the way Caboose normally acts?"

"Look. One time I found Caboose filling shell casings with peanut butter. He said he was making Reese's Pieces. Now he can't sleep at night because he keeps on picking up AM radio stations with his teeth."

"He's sitting in an ice cave, surrounded by inanimate objects and talking to them."

"Yeah. Sounds like Tuesday to me."

"And he's making the objects talk back." Washington added, "And he's doing the voices."

"So... maybe _mildly_ weird for Caboose." Tucker admitted, "What are they talking about?"

"He's telling them all stories, about things they've done together."

"What kind of stories?"

"I don't' know." Washington said, "Something about buying flags at the store. Stories about the time we stopped the Meta."

"Is he telling them stories about the time you worked with the Meta?" Tucker jabbed.

Washington sighed, "I know how that must have seemed, but trust me things were...well it's complicated."

"Is that your Facebook status?" Tucker asked, sarcastically, "Wash is 'it's complicated' with The Meta."

"Meta didn't used to be The Meta." Washington explained. He didn't seem to have the passion left to get angry. "You know he was a freelancer right? Maine. Back then he was just the squad's muscle; big, mean... but he was my teammate." Washington looked away, "He was my friend. It was the AI they implanted him with, Sigma. Something went wrong with that implantation, and trust me, I can relate. The AI was too strong for his mind to handle and it...it changed him."

"So he became a psychopathic killing machine." Tucker said sardonically, "What a twist. I mean that seems like that's all AI's do."

"Yeah, but," Washington stopped, as if considering if Tucker was important enough to not share this with. "But even then, there were a few times when the Meta could have killed me easily, and he didn't. I wondered why; if there was anything left of Maine in Meta that was stopping him. So when I learned that he'd survived the destruction of all those AI's, including Sigma, and I learned I could work with him again. I guess there was a part of me that thought that maybe, if I spent some time with him, if I could get him to remember who he used to be..."

"That you could get your friend back?" Tucker finished the thought.

"Yeah..."

"And _that's_ the only difference between you and Caboose."

"I have a reliable grasp on reality?"

" _One of_ the only differences between you and Caboose," Tucker amended, "Your friend was actually still around."

"No." Washington turned away. "He wasn't."

"Oh! You walking off to mope some more?" Tucker called after him, "Wow, big surprise. You know! I've only known you like a week, and I'm already detecting a pattern here!

X X X

York's lighter was empty.

Washington didn't know why this surprised him. After all, the freelancer had carried the thing around for years. If it had been full of lighter fluid at the time of York's death, then it likely wouldn't have survived the detonation of York's armor. So the lighter was empty. No more fuel for the fire. Seemed appropriate.

Wash was leaned against a rock behind Blue Base, flicking the lid of the lighter open and shut absent-mindedly, and thinking of Delta, York's genial, logical AI. He'd been rescued from York's body, stolen by South Dakota, carried by Caboose, devoured by the Meta, and finally erased- killed- by Washington's EMP.

Maybe, at that point, it was a mercy killing. There was no telling what was going on in Meta's head, what the seething cocktail of Sigma and Omega, Gamma and Texas was doing to the less aggressive fragments, to Theta and Delta. Still, York wouldn't have approved, and North would have tried to think of a way to get them out. But at the time Washington was more concerned about bringing down Freelancer than saving old friends.

"Oh hey! Wash guy!" Private Grif had popped out of nowhere.

Washington was too depressed to get annoyed at this point. "Yes?"

"Look, I need your help in getting Sarge to understand stuff. Important, life and death relationship stuff." Grif explained. "But I can't really talk to Sarge directly about this. Because, I usually like being alive. But we really can't put this off any more! Simmons chickened out on me!"

"Put off what?"

"Really? Are you dense? Are you retarded?" Grif scoffed. "Simmons and I have been at this for like-"

"Ohhh, okay." Washington nodded, knowingly. "Yeah, that. But why do you need my help with Sarge?"

"Why?" Grif laughed bitterly, "Because the man is a dangerous, delusional, idiot permanently stuck in some kind of ridiculous 'Father Knows Best' 'Leave it to Beaver' universe. And I don't know if we can convince him to change without some outside help."

"I know Sarge is an old fashioned guy. But I still think that-"

"Exactly!" Grif cut in "The man refuses to see what's really right in front of him. Simmons and I did our best. We tried to show him too, hell, we even got Tucker in on the action. And he was right there."

Washington did a double take. "Tucker? I... umm... wow."

"And Sarge wouldn't admit what he was seeing!" Grif cried. "He just went nuts and started yelling at Simmons about being tidy and well-groomed. And then he threatened to kill him!"

"Oh."

"And before that I tried to get Sister to see things my way, but she just kept talking about our Dad, and how I'm letting the family down. And she called me a lazy bitch."

"She did?" Washington asked. "That's harsh."

Grif waved him off. "Meh, she's mostly right. So will you help?"

"What do you want me to do about it?"

"Pull some freelancer shit on Sarge! Trick him? Threaten him? Infect him with a computer program? I don't' know."

"Look." Washington said. "While I appreciate what you and Simmons are going through, I really don't feel comfortable getting involved."

"Awww what?" Grif whined.

"If you guys are serious about seeing this thing through; you're going to have to talk to Sarge on your own."

"Great." He muttered.

"I do think it's good that you and Simmons have finally decided to be more open about your relationship." Washington added.

Grif grumbled, "Yeah whatev- wait, what?" He jerked upright, "What the hell are you talking about?"

Washington looked around, "Ummm... what are _you_ talking about?" he asked, awkwardly.

"I was talking about breaking up Sarge and my sister."

"Oh." The truth dawned on Washington, "Oooohhhh."

"What did you think I was talking about?"

"Oh...umm... well I..." Washington coughed, "That is to say... you seemed so...I had always assumed that you and Simmons...were-" he trailed off.

"Were what?" Grif asked, clueless.

"Were...um...look, what did you need help with again?

"Sarge, my sister," Grif listed off on his fingers. "Simmons being a dumbass."

"Okay, and what _was_ Simmons doing?"

"I can tell you what he wasn't doing! He wasn't having sex with my sister! The lazy bastard." Grif grumbled, "It's like I don't even know him anymore."

"Um...you sure he isn't...?" Washington leaned in and waved his hand, "You know?"

"I know for a fact that Simmons jumped at the chance for sex with a girl."

"Your sister?"

Grif crossed his arms, "Yeah. So?"

"Is that why Sarge was so mad at him?" Washington asked, "Because Simmons likes your sister?"

"I don't know if 'likes' is the right word." Grif thought about it. "I mean, he can talk to her without accidentally biting his tongue. And he kept naked pictures encrypted on his computer. And he cried himself to sleep every night for a week after Lopez told us he killed her."

"Really?"

"Yeah, but then, he does that a lot. "

Washington hesitated, "You seem to know... a lot... about Simmons."

Grif was oblivious, "Uh huh, whatever. So you helping or not?"

"No."

"What? No!?" Grif squealed, "Come on man! You owe me! You shot half of my team! Now I have to listen to Simmons complain about doing three times as much work. Think about it!"

"I'm thinking, no." Washington answered, and when he saw Grif building up for another protest he added, "And I'm thinking that if you ask me again I'll have to think about shooting _you_."

"Meep!" Grif was gone almost as abruptly as he'd appeared.


	12. Advisory Panic

Tucker was alone in Blue Base. And he was enjoying his alone time. It wasn't 'alone time' which generally required a little more privacy than a room with four entrances with no solid doors. But it was a nice quiet moment with no one being annoying, depressing, or stupid. Tucker had pulled his Father's Day card out of his first aid compartment and was rereading it with an unseen smile. He looked up to see Sarge entering the base, shotgun in hand.

"Shit!" He put the card away, then raised his hands defensively, "I didn't touch her I swear. Okay... I mean... I haven't touched her in like... two years. You know that! Come on man?"

"Ahh can it, Blueballs!" Sarge growled. "I'm lookin' for Miss Kay."

Tucker was confused. "What? You mean Sister?"

"Yes! She should be here!" Now Sarge looked around the base, "Or...Does this place have a kitchen?"

"Ummm...No."

"Then she should be here!"

Tucker gestured to the empty room. "Well she's not."

"Hmph." Sarge lowered his head.

"Ohhh man," Tucker said, "This is _classic_ woman shit."

"What?"

"Well, I've learned, from _years_ of experience, there's only two kinds of chicks: the ones that leave you lonely, or the ones that won't leave you alone." Tucker spread his arms wide, like he was imparting great wisdom, "But you see every woman is actually both at once, like some kind of whiny bitch werewolf. The ones that leave you lonely, you can never keep. They're fucking awful, because you want em so bad, and you keep chasing them, but they're always slinking off to screw other guys or get an education. "

"The ones that won't leave you alone though, they're even worse. Doesn't matter if you hate em, doesn't matter how much they hate you, and, -believe me- they fucking _hate_ you; once you got em, you're stuck with em. Bitching and crying, fighting and begging, totally screwing with your mind, because they're there, hating you, but they cannot fucking leave you alone.

"And what does this have to do with Miss Kay?" Sarge asked.

"Okay, so that's what every dude has to ask when he's banging some chick;" Tucker explained, "Which werewolf bitch is it gonna be? Because it only ends two ways: Are you gonna hate her because she leaves? Or is she gonna hate you because she can't?

"Well, that's not very romantic."

Tucker snorted. "You want a happy ending? Visit a massage parlor."

X X X

Tucker and Simmons didn't usually make a habit of hanging out. What with being on opposite sides of an erstwhile war, and sometimes trying to kill each other. However, on occasions when both of them were suffering from the persecution of idiots and the oppressive knowledge of their own relative sanity in general, they often discovered that they had much in common.

They were both standing by the ghost motorcycle in the underpass behind the bases, comparing Sarge stories. Both trying to resist the urge to punch the other one in the face, take the vehicle, and get the hell out of there.

"Ugh!" Tucker groaned. "I thought Grif was supposed to be lazy."

"Normally, yes." Simmons explained, "But when it comes to avoiding Sarge, he's relentless."

"And I guess Sarge marrying his Sister would be like being in the army forever, even on Christmas Break."

"Don't touch her! She's not nice!" The command came from behind them. The turquoise and the maroon soldier turned to see Caboose standing behind them in the hanger. "Hello." he said.

"How long have you been there?" Tucker asked.

Caboose began passing around slips of paper. "And here's one for you, and one for you and one for you."

"What are these?" Tucker was trying to decipher the crayon scribbles on the card.

"They are invitations, to Donut's baby shower!"

"But Donut's a guy," Tucker said

"We think." Simmons cautioned.

"And dead." Tucker said.

"That's more certain." Simmons agreed.

Caboose shook his head. "Naw, you see, the baby shower isn't for Donut. He's hosting it."

Tucker stared at him. "Dead."

"You just _think_ Donut's dead," Caboose explained, "but I know that he's really getting all better."

Simmons and Tucker exchanged glances. "Nope, pretty sure that he is definitely, permanently dead." Simmons said. "Bullets to the torso have a way of doing that. Agent Washington shot Lopez, 'bang', and then Donut, 'bang,' and down he went." he shuddered. "Cold as fuck."

"Agent Washington?" Caboose asked.

"Yeah. Didn't we tell you that?" Simmons turned to Tucker, "Didn't you tell him that?"

Tucker shrugged, "Meh? Details?"

Caboose shook his head, "No." he said slowly, "I don't think Agent Washington would have done that...It kind of seems out of character for him. You must be mistaken."

"I saw it with my own eyes!" Simmons said, "And I get to see it again every time my latent Post Traumatic Stress Disorder flares up."

Caboose was definitely still not convinced, "No, He's a good guy, like Church."

"First of all," Tucker said, "Church was not a good guy."

Simmons jumped on the statement. "Okay, and there's another thing: You realize that Washington wanted to catch Church right? He had the capture unit rigged to be one way. And they trapped Tex in it"

"And Church went to rescue her!" Caboose added.

"And then it _shut down_." Simmons said emphatically, "Washington knew that it would."

Caboose searched frantically through his ransacked brain to find an argument, "Yeah... but Washington helped us, like that time when he blew up that plane, and that time he beat the Meta, and that other time that we beat the Meta, and then with the aliens."

"Yeah," Tucker chimed in, "Forgot to mention that-apparently-he killed those aliens too.."

"And." Caboose reiterated, "He helped us."

Tucker sighed, resigned. "I guess, sometimes, okay. Doesn't change the fact that he's also got more team kills than you. Lucky for him three of the four guys of ours that he offed, I didn't particularly care for."

Simmons nodded. "Yeah."

Tucker continued, "But Caboose man, you're okay with all this? I mean I know how crazy possessive you get about friends, and team kills."

"No see, it's okay, because you see, I'm already working on this problem. We'll get all our friends back. You'll see. Wash already told me how to do it."

"You mean your cave full of junk?" Tucker asked.

"Secret cave," Caboose corrected.

"Really?" Simmons said, "Wash told you to do that?"

"Yes."

Tucker spoke slowly. "He told you that if you wished really hard and found some garbage that you could magically resurrect all of your friends."

"You forgot the remembering stories part." Caboose said, defensively, "That is the most important part."

"Really?" Tucker didn't sound convinced, at all. "So, the next time you see Washington, why don't you ask him? Ask him if all your friends he killed will come back."

"Okay, maybe I will!" Caboose went stomping from the hanger.

He didn't look back. If he had he would have seen Agent Washington standing atop the hanger's overpass, his head bowed.

X X X

"Hey! There you are!" The girl in the yellow armor managed to corner Simmons as he slunk around the generators outside Red Base, doing everything possible to avoid and Sarge and Grif, and still half-heartedly trying to restore the base's power.

"Oh...uh...hi Sister." Simmons glanced over his shoulder nervously, looking out for spying Sarges.

"I went down to that ice bunker like you said, but Sarge wasn't there."

"Oh. Is that so?" Simmons said, woodenly. "I am very sorry. I must have been mistaken. I will go look for Sarge right now." He started a hasty retreat, but Sister grabbed his arm.

"No wait! Um I wanted to ask you though, about Sarge and stuff..."

"What about Sarge?" Simmons craned his neck around to look behind him.

"I was kinda wondering, because I talked to Grif and-"

"Grif? I... Uh...I have not seen him lately either. At all. Or talked to him either at all." Simmons tugged on his arm, but she wouldn't let go.

"How could you talk to him if you hadn't seen him?"

"That is um...uh..." Simmons coughed, "What did you want again?"

Sister dropped his arm and stared at him. Then her shoulders hitched and she put her hands on her visor. From within the helmet came muffled sobs and sniffles.

"Uhhh." Simmons backed away an inch. "Um."

"I'm sorry...It's just." Sister hiccupped. "Grif yelled at me. And I'm tired. And my skin is itching, and my back hurts. And Grif told me...told me..." She hugged her arms to herself, "That I would make Sarge miserable. And this, he keeps moving and making me have to pee. And Tucker called me a banana." She broke down crying again, "And my boobs are leaking."

Simmons patted her on the arm. "Hey, it's okay, I- wait, what?"

"And I can't find Sarge... And I looked everywhere...and...but... I don't know what I'm gonna do when I find him..."

"Um... why is that?" Simmons asked. Sister just collapsed into him, and cried louder.

X X X

Now that Tucker and Simmons had cleared out of the hanger, Washington was free to loiter inside undisturbed. He was giving the alien vehicle a once over, and it appeared to be in full working order. The lights on the dash were even flashing.

"Heya there! Agent Washington! Just the man I was looking for."

Washington's heart sank to his stomach, and he turned to face Sarge. "What."

Sarge sidled into hanger, glancing around himself, as it to make sure he hadn't been followed. "Yeah, so I was wanting to ask you, er...that is... one highly trained military strategist to another.

Washington sighed. "Look, I'm in no mood for..."

"I need some help." Sarge interrupted.

"Of course you do." Washington said, exasperated. "Why do you people keep coming to me?"

"I heard Caboose talking once, and he said that you really had a way with the ladies."

"What? You're sure he didn't mean Tucker?"

"Tucker?" Sarge snorted, "Ha, I don't think so; already had an earful from him, and it was less than enlightening. Nope, Caboose said that when you saw a woman you wanted, you didn't let her slip away, that it was like you knew what she was thinking, and once you had her, you completely and totally blew her mind."

"What?"

"Yeah! So what's your secret?" Sarge asked, "How did you keep that Dakota chick from runnin' out on you?"

Washington raised his hands. "Wait...wait...wait...Agent South Dakota? I shot her."

Sarge slowly nodded. "Interesting strategy."

Washington shook his head, "No, it wasn't like that... I mean. She shot me first."

"Ah, feisty! I know the type."

"No," Washington said, firmly, "I shot her dead. And destroyed her body with explosives."

Sarge considered this. "Hm... ya know, I don't think Miss Kay and I are that far along in our relationship."

"No. Look. I killed Agent South Dakota as a part of a mission. We weren't in any way romantically involved. So I guess whatever advice you we're hoping to get I am no longer qualified to give." Washington said curtly, "So, good-bye."

"Wait!" Sarge called, "I've got no one else to ask."

Washington grudgingly stopped. "What?"

"Well, I'm not gonna talk to Grif. And- just between you and me- I suspect that everyone else here has had their hand in the cookie jar a couple times."

Washington shuddered, "That's not a mental image I... wait. Even Caboose?"

"So, lets just say, hypothetically, you made a mistake, with someone." Sarge said, then added, "And then the same mistake again, a couple hundred times."

"Ugh."

"And you were more than willing to live with that mistake for the rest of your life. But you didn't really know if 'the someone' would be happy living with it too?"

"If there's one thing I've learned," Washington replied, "It's that the only thing worse than having other people pay for your mistakes, is expecting them to be happy about it."

"Alright, but what if you don't know?" Sarge asked.

Washington was no longer looking at Sarge, but was staring out toward the direction of Blue Base. "I think most of the time deep down, you do know, you just don't want to face it."

"Okay, and what if you _don't_ know?" Sarge asked again.

Washington gave his signature exasperated sigh. "I guess you could ask them." He looked back toward the motorcycle, "But I before that, you really should be asking yourself: even if they're willing, do you deserve it?" He left the hanger, walking in the direction of Red Base, but Sarge trailed behind, still unsatisfied.

"Hummm. Ya know." Sarge said, as he caught up with the newest Blue, "You're kinda a downer, anyone ever told..."

They stopped dead in their tracks. In front of Red Base, tucked beside some cylindrical purple generators, Simmons had his arms wrapped around a sobbing Sister. Neither had seen Washington or Sarge yet. The former Freelancer watched as the old Sergeant first bristled in anger, and then slumped.

"Okay." Washington said, voice low, "Trying to put a positive spin on it. Sometimes its better for everyone if you just let people move on without you."

Sarge didn't answer. He turned and walked away. After a moment Washington also left but in a different direction.

Sister had finally gotten a hold of herself. Sniffling down the stuffy-nosed remains of an emotional breakdown, she finally pulled away from Simmons.

"You feel better?" He asked.

"A little, I guess. I'm just like, so confused." She scratched her baby belly. "The last time I was this mixed up I woke up naked in an empty hot tub covered in margarita sugar. And Goddamn this skin itches!"

"Umm...okay." Simmons said. If there was a proper response to that, he would have loved to hear it.

"But..." The faintest quaver in Sister's voice sent him into a panic that she would break down again. "Do you think I'll make Sergeant miserable?"

For a moment Simmons wrestled with the knowledge that this was a perfect opportunity attack the relationship Grif was dead set on destroying, "I...I... I think that Sarge is a great man," he finally said. "And you are a very nice girl." He paused. "So um...there's that."

"Thanks Simmons." She sounded relieved. "You're like the brother I never had."

"But you have a brother?"

"Yeah," Sister explained, "But not one I've fucked."

X X X

There was something strangely inviting about Washington, formerly known as Agent. His demeanor hinted at vast depths of mental and emotional anguish just waiting to be consulted for advice. Something that begged you to approach him, pour out your troubles, and listen for wisdom borne from years of painful experience.

That was the only explanation Simmons had for approaching the disgruntled soldier as he tried to enter Caboose's ice cave. Given the recent events of murder and threatened murder he had experienced at the Ex-Freelancer's hands, he really should have known better.

"So, um, hey I was-"

Washington whirled around. "What?" he snapped.

Memories of cold blooded killing came rushing back. "Nothing!" Simmons squeaked as he quickly backed away, "I said nothing! I mean nothing! I am nothing!"

Washington watched him for a second. "Wait," he said, softly, then shouted, "Wait! Come back! Come back, I want to talk to you." He started after the Maroon soldier.

"Meep!" Simmons started running, dodging back and forth, erratically shouting to himself. "Serpentine! Serpentine!" He ran up one of the canyons that cut into the sheltering cliff, but was met with a wall of fallen boulders. "No! A dead end!" He turned around to see Washington stalking over to him. He turned to run in the other direction, but Washington raised his rifle.

"Stop right there," he commanded. Simmons froze. "Every single one of you morons has cornered me sometime today and spilled their guts."

Simmons whimpered and huddled into a tiny ball of fear and misery.

"Metaphorically," Washington amended. "And now, it's my turn."

"Please! Don't shoot me! I've got so much profoundly mediocre life ahead of me."

"Yes. That." Washington lowered the rifle. "I wanted to ask you, are you happy?"

Simmons, still crouched pathetically, looked around the canyon. "Are-are you talking about in ge-ge-general, or right now?" He stammered.

"Are you happier being alive?"

"As opposed to what?" Simmons squeaked.

Washington didn't answer right away. Instead he stood there, thinking. Finally he took a deep breath. "When the Director of Project Freelancer first pitched the idea of simulation bases to the UNSC he presented it as an act of mercy. Round up the used-up, the washed-out, the odd balls the misfits and the idiots. Cull them from the active military, and use them to test new weapons, stronger armor, better soldiers, from the safety of protected, backwater bases in isolated locations."

"Safety!" Simmons cried, "We thought we were at war! We were trying to kill each other!"

"And how many of you actually died?" Washington asked pointedly. Simmons was silent. "But do you know what you were culled from? The front lines of an intergalactic genocide with highly advanced aliens bent on annihilating our entire species. Platoon after platoon of well trained, capable soldiers would be sent in for the battle, and mowed down by the enemy."

"But isn't the war with the aliens over?"

"Yes," Washington answered. "It'd been over for more than a year before we brought down Freelancer. And they still hadn't sent you guys home. They were still keeping up the facade of the Simulations." Washington was talking less and less to Simmons specifically, caught up in the confession in general. "And after we took down the Meta, and Freelancer command, even then the UNSC didn't discharge you. Instead, they gave you new bases, new vehicles, and a new command server."

"But why?" Simmons' prior fear was being absorbed by curiosity.

"Because you're _evidence_ ," Washington answered. "Witnesses, not just to what Freelancer did, but to how the rest of the military looked the other way while they did it, while you were lied to, experimented on, used and killed."

"When the Director first presented the simulation bases to us, he said it was the only way sub standard recruits, like Caboose, or Grif, or washed up old war dogs like Sarge, could be useful in the fight, and still make it home." Washington shook his head slowly, "And at first. I believed him. Despite everything, even knowing what he was capable of..."

The realization dawned on Simmons. "We're never getting home, are we?

Washington didn't answer this time. He just stood, guilty.

"Why did you tell me all this?" Simmons asked.

"I had to tell someone. I wanted it to be one of you who could still understand." Washington turned from him, "And one who would think good and hard about whether to tell the others." He sighed again. Then he walked away.

Simmons thought for a moment, and then called after him. "Do we still get a paycheck?


	13. Repaying it Forward

The sheltered, neutral territory of the bunker beneath the ice was the obvious location for the baby shower. While the 'where' had been easy enough to figure out, as well as the 'who' and the 'why', the 'what' had quickly morphed into, 'what the hell.' Still, Curiosity compounded with the general boredom of their situation had led to higher attendance than would be expected for a party put on by, what Tucker had informed them was, an alien's electric camping stool. Between the tunnels to the bases Caboose had piled most of his mechanical 'guests', rolling 'Church' and 'Tex' near each other, but making sure 'Shelia' and 'Lopez' were far apart.

But in the middle of the room, Sister sat on 'Donut', the stool hosting the guest of honor. She straightened up, and seemed to be trying to get a kink out of her back. "So after we put out the couch fire we figured, since the doctor said Alani couldn't drink, we could have her drive to the store, right? But when the cops pulled us over he said that with a learner's permit at least one adult in the car has to be..like... sober and awake... which is like, bullshit." She stretched again, kneading at her back with her hand.

"Alani totally freaked when they pulled her mom out of the trunk, because her mom kept swinging around the bat from the piñata, and muttering about killing Palou. When the cops cuffed her, Alani just wigged. Practically went into labor right there. So she ended up opening presents from the Juvie Psych Ward, and she would hold the stuff up to the window to us, because they were under 36 hour observation lockdown and wouldn't let any of the cheerleading squad in, except Bethani cuz she was her half-aunt and ex-stepsister. Total bullshit. They didn't even let her have some cake."

"And that the only baby shower you went to?" Sarge asked. He was standing behind her protectively, but with distance between. Looking more like a bouncer than a baby-daddy.

"The only one I can remember. My cousin's baby shower had an open bar." She shrugged and looked around the room. "Sorry, guys. I wish we could play the game where we guess if it's a boy or a girl, but we'd need cool mint mouthwash, cherry cough syrup, and some ping pong balls."

"Maybe that is for the best." Tucker said, and exchanged sideways glances with Simmons, who was moping more than usual.

"Yeah, I was really bad at it. It's hard to play colorblind, even when you're sober." She looked from the sorrowful Simmons, to the kind-of bored Tucker, to the Inscrutable Sarge, to a Grif that was vibrating with an almost panicked, desperate energy. "So, Um... what are we going to do?" She asked, finally looking at Caboose.

Caboose sprung up from where he had been deep in half-silent 'conversation' with his friends. "We're waiting for the guests to arrive."

"I think he's going to be late." Simmons looked out the front entrance. "If he comes at all."

"Yeah," Tucker agreed, "If he wants to be fashionably late, then he can fashionably miss the whole fuckin party!"

"Yes." Caboose paused, and then slowly turned in a full circle, taking in the entire room. "Um. Yes." he said. Everyone stared and waited. Finally Caboose knelt down in front of Sister, and put his head between her legs. "Commadant cookie crumble," He whispered to the stool she was sitting on, "What do we do at this baby shower? Uh huh, yes." Caboose stood up. "He says that since there is no baby yet to shower that we give presents while we're waiting."

"Oh!" Sister looked around the room eagerly, "People brought presents?"

Sarge was fumbling around with a pouch on his belt, but Tucker beat him to the punch.

"I did!" Tucker sidled up next to Sister. "And ain't nobody here gonna be able to show this up. It's what my dad gave my mom at her baby shower. And she passed it on to me, and now I'm passing it on to you!"

"Twenty bucks says its syphilis." Grif whispered to Simmons.

Tucker handed Sister a note card. It had been laminated at some point, but too late to prevent yellowing, stains, and the grungy grey lines of old creases flattened back out. Sister read aloud the letters scrawled on the card. "I O U"

"Turn it over." Tucker instructed.

Sister read the back. "Child support."

"Yup! Now if you ever see my dad, he owes you for eighteen years plus interest."

"Wow." Sister looked up at him. "You don't want this?"

"Naw, I already sued the aliens for child support on Junior. His Uncle lost half his brother's estate to a court-ordered trust fund! I'm set."

"How much is it worth?" Sarge asked.

Tucker chuckled. "Well, lets just say there's a reason Junior's Uncle hates me so much."

"The _card_ , numbnuts."

"Oh, yeah. Well according to my mother and the State of Michigan, about 24 thousand."

Sister held the card reverentially. "Wow."

"Well I can do one better!" Grif elbowed in.

"Really?" Sarge scoffed.

"Yeah," Grif stood up as straight as he could, and said with great formality to the woman sitting in front of him. "My dearest Sis, to celebrate the imminent arrival of the first living creature to emerge unscathed from the disease-infested execution-chamber of your womb, I grant you this gift. As your brother, and thus your closest blood relation, should the need arise, you are hereby entitled to one of my kidneys."

"Hey!" Simmons protested. "Those are my kidneys!"

"It's okay," Grif said, "She's used to hand me downs."

"Yup," Sarge nodded, "Always get your organs pre-owned. You save a bundle! A brand new liver loses sixty percent of it's sticker value the first thousand miles, and those durn finicky gall bladders are just fancy doodads for show, like steering wheel covers." He was fumbling in his belt pouch again. "Now did anyone other than me actually get a present that isn't a load of hot air?"

Simmons was roused from his preoccupied silence. "Oh, I did!" The maroon soldier handed Sister a plastic bottle.

"Ooohhh," She examined the label. "What is this?"

"Well, you said that your skin was itching and bothering you." Simmons explained. "And since I sometimes breakout in a heat rash when I'm nervous, I always keep bottle of aloe lotion on me. You can have my spare. It's hypoallergenic."

Tucker leaned over to Grif and whispered. "Wow. Only Simmons could make something that should have been so sexy sound so dorky."

"Tucker, you're a genius." Grif whispered back. "Remind me to thank you later." He marched between Simmons and Sister. "Simmons!" He sounded outraged. "How could you do this?"

"Do what?" Simmons asked.

"And in front of Sarge too?"

"Uhh Grif?" Sister stared at him, confused.

Grif ignored her. "Does your perverse desire know no bounds?" He demanded. "I mean, its one thing for you to pine after my sister, spy on her, and go to convoluted lengths to try win her heart from our Sergeant. But giving my sister _lotion_? To use on her _body_? Have you no shame? Why don't you just give her a towel with your face printed on in? Or a Loofa that looks like your hand? Or a tooth brush shaped like your-"

"Grif!" Sister interrupted, "What are you talking about?"

"What am I talking about? Sis, I'm talking about how this attractive, age-appropriate, pliable, young man obviously has powerful, _animal_ , feelings for you that he's trying desperately, -but totally failing- to repress."

"No I am not!" Simmons protested.

Grif jabbed an accusing finger at his teammate."So you admit, you aren't even _trying_ to repress your passionate hunger for my sister's soft nubile body?"

Simmons looked from Sarge to Sister and back to Grif. "Yes...I mean no... I mean. Dammit Grif! I said no! I will not fuck your sister! I already said that!"

"So what _are_ you saying Simmons?" Grif asked "Are you saying that she's not good enough for you?"

"What? No! I'm saying that I don't want to be in the middle of this!" Simmons stammered his voice shrill. "Why am I in the middle of this? I hate the middle! I've always hated it!" He looked around the room. "Why are you all looking at me? Why are you all asking me things and telling me things and yelling at me? I'm not involved! I'm not even here! I am going." He pointed to the corner. "I am going to go stand over there by the random inanimate objects and Caboose. I'm going to talk to _them_ and they're not going to drag me into the middle of anything, ever." Simmons turned, walked over to the pile of Caboose's 'friends'.

"Hello," Caboose said to him, "Welcome to the group!"

Then, Grif and Sister and Sarge turned to Tucker. The blue soldier shrugged.

"I'm not going anywhere. But sure as fuck I'm not getting involved. Just think of me as a passive observer, like Jerry Springer."

Sister was getting agitated. "But..."

"Oh, don't get me wrong Sis, I would love to tap that fine ass of yours again, but I'm a classy enough guy to understand that you'll probably want to wait until Sarge is dead."

"I'm right here." Sarge said.

"Yes you are!" Tucker agreed. "And alive. And as long as you're breathing, kinda nutso, and holding a shotgun, I promise not to touch your things."

"Well look at that!" Grif threw his arms in the air in frustration. "Two guys in a row that won't fuck my sister! That's never ever happened before, right sis? Yup, not even the time you tried your fake ID at the Rainbow Stallion Bar."

Sarge was up and in his subordinate's face in a second. "Grif, if you don't shut your filthy trap this second, I'm going to muzzle you the old fashioned way, with my boot on your throat!"

"You can stomp my neck all you want old man! But you can't silence the truth!"

"The truth?" Sarge shouted. "You would-"

Sarge was cut off by the sound of sobbing. Sister was crying. "Why are you all doing this?" She wailed. "You're ruining my baby shower! All of you." Alternating between shouting and crying, Sister pointed, at no one and everyone. "I hate you! You're ruining everything! You should be happy for me! You should be happy that I'm happy. Don't you see how fucking happy I am?" She was flapping her arms like an enraged bird, sobbing and choking. "I'm getting married, and I'm going to have a baby and I am so fucking happy that I think I'm going to throw up!" She stiffened, and then leaned over and suddenly started gagging, reaching for the wall to steady herself, and pulling at the seals on her helmet.

"Woah Missy!" Sarge grabbed her elbow and led Sister to the back of the room. "Let me help." He said.

Caboose sighed contentedly over the sound of retching. "I think this is party is going great!" No one agreed. "What do you think, Tex?" He asked the round purple ball. Simmons stared at him. "Ahh hah ha ha ha," Caboose laughed at nothing. "That was a good one."

Simmons crouched by the objects, examining one in particular, the round stand with the upright horns holding a fan of flickering light. "Caboose, what is this?" he asked.

"That is Shelia. And I don't think she appreciates the way you're touching her..."

The horrible sounds from the corner had stopped, and Sarge guided Sister back to the stool in the center of the room. She sat on it, dazed, exhausted, and uncomfortable.

"So! I see you made room for cake!" Caboose said to her. He ran to the front of the cave.

Tucker called after him. "You made cake?"

"Yes!"

"Out of cake?"

"No!"

Tucker hesitated. "Then out of..."

Caboose reentered the bunker with a lavishly decorated disk of pure whiteness sitting on a metal slab. "Out of snow!"

Sarge knelt next to Sister, who was silently curling up on herself. He hesitated, and then put his hand on hers. "Miss Kay."

She turned to him, visor blank. "What?"

"You're not happy," He stated; then asked, already knowing the answer. "Are you?"

"No." Her voice trembled.

"And Simmons, earlier," he continued, "He made you feel better, I saw it."

"Yeah, a little I guess..." she sniffled, "But its cause he said-"

Sarge had already stood up. "Nope, that's fine. I understand."

She looked up at him. "Understand?"

"Yup." His voice was clipped, choked off. "Wedding's off."

"What?" Sister asked.

"What?" Simmons asked.

"Yes." Grif whispered, and he pumped his fist.

"It's ice-flavored!" Caboose shoved a wedge of white snow under Tucker's nose.

Sarge was fumbling with a scrap of paper and one of Caboose's errant crayons. "Here. I'm sure somewhere out there is a nice young man to be the father I can't." he looked pointedly at Simmons. "But, you give this to our son, when he's old enough to understand." He handed Sister the paper. "Happy baby shower."

Sister read the paper, "'I O U child support.' signed 'Sarge.'" She looked up, "No, but-"

Sarge raised a hand to silence her. "Nope. No sense dragging this out, when we obviously aren't meant to be." He sighed, "We both got more sense that to be fooling ourselves into sticking with it just because we spent the better part of seven months unable to disentangle ourselves from the steamy embrace of passionate, illicit, lovemaking."

Tucker nodded. "Niiice."

Sister stood, "No, but... but... You're not listening to me!"

Sarge had turned away from her. "Now don't go trying to convince me to change my mind." he grumbled, "As chaste and pure as your intentions are; your happiness is more important than your noble but outdated sense of honor. Wedding is off." With that said, the Red Leader marched out in the direction of Red Base.

"Wait!" Sister called out after him. "No! Why...why...I don't..." She collapsed back onto her camping stool host, sobbing.

Grif sidled up next to her and patted her gently on the back. "Awww. Sis... Don't worry. I know how you're feeling: That he's a massive asshole and you hate him and wish that he would just hurry up and die. So, I can tell him that for you later." Sister looked up at him. Her crying had stopped, but her visor kept him from seeing her face. "I mean, that's written on the birthday card I give him every year anyway. But now we gotta get you outta this; get you home."

"But...but the baby?"

"Don't worry, I'm sure some very nice couple will only be too happy to pay us several grand apiece to give it a happy progressive home. We can check the billboard at the Rainbow Stallion when we get back. We don't even have to tell Sarge, then we can still collect on the child support."

"But... Sergeant..."

"Yeah, what about him?" Grif asked.

"I wanted to marry him."

"Well he just dumped you." Grif reminded her. "So you'll have to go for someone else. I'm sure you can find a schlub to get engaged to. Maybe you can try a reality show? And you got Tucker, Simmons, or Caboose right here; or track down that Wash guy, wherever he's moping. I'm sure at least one- heck, maybe all- of them will oblige you a little rebound action."

Tucker raised his hand from where he'd been watching the emotional fallout. "Hey baby, I hear I'm great on the rebound. Just sayin' "

"And I am also good at basketball!" Caboose offered.

Simmons backed away looking at the wall. "Out of the middle." He reminded them.

"But I don't want rebound action." Sister protested. "I don't want to be on the Bachelorette or to collect fraudulent child support or to sell my baby on the black market. I don't want a normal life like that anymore!"

"Of course you do, Sis." Grif said. "I know you. That's what you always want."

"No!" Sister stood up suddenly. "I want my Sergeant!"

Grif was dumbfounded. "Why?"

"Because I love him!" Sister cried, and sobbing again she fled in the direction of Blue base.

"Wait!" Caboose said, "We didn't get to play the games yet!"

Tucker grabbed him by the arm. "I think the party's over Caboose."

"But she didn't even open the rest of the presents."

"Were they made of snow?" Tucker asked.

"Yes."

"Leave it."

"But Church never made it." Caboose whined.

"Isn't that one Church?" Tucker pointed to the sphere.

Caboose corrected himself. "But newer, grumpier replacement Church that we're not supposed to call Church never made it."

Simmons was staring at his teammate. "Grif, that is, without a doubt, the single most horrible thing I have ever seen you do."

"What? No! You've seen me do a lot worse things than that!"

"Like what?" Simmons asked.

"Remember that time I convinced Donut that I was collecting blood donations for orphans with Moa Bird Flu, and then I used the quart of human blood he gave me to fake being a hemophiliac for a week so I could stay in bed and watch every season of _24_ in real time?"

"This is worse!"

"You're joking!" Grif scoffed. "How?"

"Your sister loves Sarge, and you ruined it for her."

"First of all: you helped." Grif answered. "And second of all: no she doesn't!"

"She just said so!"

"Yeah, well she also said she loved the guinea pig, and two hours later he was somehow in the microwave."

"Mmm..." Caboose said, "Hot pockets."

Tucker interjected. "You know, I'm actually going to have to go with Simmons on this one. I mean, it's not every day that a fine lady can resist my charms. It's gotta be true love, and true love, well, damn. That's like a unicorn riding a Jet Ski, or an Adam Sandler movie that's actually funny. Nobody should fuck that up."

"But it's not!" Grif protested again, "She doesn't love him; she's just stupid!"

"You wouldn't give a fuck if she _did_ love him!" Simmons said. "You're not doing this for her, Grif, so stop pretending like it!"

Grif turned away in a huff, only wanting the conversation over.

It was then that Simmons saw something on the ground by the stool. He bent over to pick it up.

"What's that?" Tucker asked.

Simmons poked at the object in his palm "I think Sarge dropped it." He shoved it in his belt pouch, decisively; and marched in the direction of Red Base.

"Where are you going?" Grif asked.

"I'm going to set this right." Simmons answered without stopping.

"That's not setting it right!" Grif shouted after him. "That's setting it shit!" But Simmons didn't reply. "Uggh." Grif groaned, and sat down on the stool. "I can't believe this is happening. I hope he fucks up whatever he's planning so he doesn't fuck up my plan."

Tucker and Caboose exchanged a look, and almost got the sense that they understood each other.

"What?" Grif asked, defensively. "What? Why are you looking at me like that? You want me to go to magic lala-land and pretend that Sarge and my sister together isn't some kind of unholy, borderline-illegal, abomination?"

Tucker shrugged. "True love man, sometimes it's freaky and weird. Haven't you ever been on the internet?"

"Right!" Grif scoffed " _That's_ true love! So I guess that ball thing really is Church," he pointed, "And that disk thing is Donut. And if I piss on the cake, why that's lemon frosting! And if we click our heels and count to three a spaceship piloted by Jesus H. Christ will come swooping down and carry us off to a tropical fucking paradise."

"Um, actually," Caboose gestured at the disk, "That is Lopez. You're sitting on Donut."

Grif froze and then looked down between his legs. "Well at least somebody is happy here then." He leaned forward and talked to his seat. "So tell me Donut, how does it feel constantly putting up with giant asses all day? Gets pretty exhausting huh? I mean if you weren't such a naturally supportive guy, I imagine that you'd like to tell us to shove off without so much as a-"

" _I'm sorry._ " Agent Washington said, in a voice tinny and hissing.

All three soldiers whirled around. In the pile of Caboose's friends 'Shelia' was glowing, and the light that had glimmered between the curved horns at the top of the object had blossomed into a full sized hologram of Washington.

" _By the time you get this message,_ " The hologram continued, " _I'll already be gone._ "

"But you had so much to live for!" Caboose said.

As if on cue, " _Caboose, if you're alone, make sure everyone sees this..._ "

Caboose shouted from where he stood. "Everybody!"

"Shut up, Caboose." Tucker said.

" _So that together you can decide what to do._ " The hologram paused. Washington was hesitating.

" _I've done an inventory and if you ration correctly you should have enough supplies for about a week. If you're unable to contact someone you know, then you have a UNSC emergency SOS beacon you can activate. It's what Caboose is currently calling Church. Just press the round button in the center of the cross. It will broadcast the signal and the military should be by in a few hours to pick you up._ " The recorded figure paused again, guiltily.

" _I've taken the vehicle from the hanger,_ " Washington said.

"Great," Tucker grumbled, "Dumps us and then steals our ride. Didn't think that would happen twice in my life."

The hologram sighed, " _While, I appreciate everything you guys did for me, helping me evade the authorities and letting me tag along in your, whatever it is you guys do. Trying to give me a second chance in spite of...things._ "

"Yeah, like murder." Tucker added.

" _I've realized how unfair it is of me to expect you people to just forget what I've done. I've taken things from you guys that can never be recovered or replaced, people that you will miss,_ " somehow the hologram knew to look at Caboose, " _and cannot get back. For that, and for so many other things, I am sorry._ "

Tucker was not satisfied. "Sorry enough to run off like a chickenshit? What are you, my dad?"

" _If I could make things right, I would. But I can't._ " The recording of Washington straightened up, and was businesslike again. " _And in light of that, I think the best thing for all of us now is to go our separate ways._ "

Tucker said, "Riiiiight because you know what's best for us? The mighty Agent Assinghole will now re-order our lives as he sees fit."

" _So, good luck,_ " the message said, " _And good bye._ "

"Yeah well good riddance, you fucking dick." Tucker said.

Washington then added. " _Oh and, be careful of some of Caboose's other friends. Those are highly volatile explosives._ " The hologram flickered, and was gone.

"Wait!" Caboose cried, grabbing the holo-recorder up from the ground. "I had a question!" he shouted into it.

"It's a prerecorded message Caboose." Grif said, "It can't hear you."

"It could hear Tucker." Caboose pouted, "Why could it hear Tucker?"

"Look he said all that stuff hours ago." Tucker replied.

"You can talk to people in the past!?" Caboose said, "You _are_ magic!"

Tucker ignored him. "So, how long are we waiting before we tell the other guys?" he asked Grif.

"Hell, I'm going to tell them now. Might be enough to short-circuit a reconciliation." Grif went up the tunnel to Blue Base.

Tucker realized that with Grif and Sister in Blue Base, and Sarge and Simmons in Red Base, both presumably having overwrought emotional conversations, there was no place he would rather be than in the bunker, away from them. That is until Caboose turned to him, 'Shelia' in his hands, the slow single wheel in his brain finally processing Washington's message.

"He's not coming to the party." Caboose said, sadly.

X X X

Washington sped the alien craft through the rocky canyon. He had a steely resolve, a solid firm feeling in his gut that he was doing the right thing. At least, he pretended that he was certain. His mind came up with speech after speech explaining his actions, and he played the rationalizations out for himself, trying to convince a captive audience. Besides, he hated all of them anyway.

He was so deep in thought, he barely noticed that the red light on the dash hadn't stopped flashing, and definitely he didn't notice the glint of reflected light high on the ridge of the canyon wall. Up on the rock face, a lavender armored alien watched through a stolen sniper rifle scope Washington riding away.

His radio crackled to life. "Blarg. Blarg honk." Smith said.

Miles from Smith's perch, eight aliens, armed to the teeth and indifferent to the cold, crouched behind boulders at the base of a sheltering cliff face. One peered around the rock, looking at two squat vaguely trapezoidal buildings nestled into the snow.

"Honk. Blarg blarg honk." The alien replied, and motioned to the group. As one unit they drew their weapons.


	14. Latency Issues

Grif expected to hear bawling by now. He was standing at the threshold of the force field door between Blue Base and the tunnel to the ice bunker. But Blue Base was eerily quiet, and it scared him.

He entered Blue Base and Sister was there, sitting on a crate. Every so often she would sniffle, but that was it. She wasn't crying anymore. She was sitting in silence, staring at the wall.

Grif had survived Sister's breakups before. They were like hurricanes, except with more violent property damage and names that never got retired. Ted had cleaned a convenience store out of mentos, and tepeed an entire city block. Matt 2 had left Grif with a stolen fire hydrant, 500 dollars in fines for disorderly conduct, and the burn scar from a George Forman grill. And there were still outstanding warrants for what had happened on Kahoolawe Island when Alexandrew had blown in.

There was only one other time when the loss of a man had left Sister speechless and motionless. Years ago, she'd sat dry eyed and silent on the folding chair at the funeral home, while Grif had anxiously scarfed down an entire plate of finger sandwiches, and their mother had sobbed while reaching for the heaping serving platter. Free lasagna being delivered to their home by the truckload notwithstanding, it was a time in Grif's life he never wanted to relive.

He walked over and sat down on the crate next to her, trying to figure out what, if anything, he could do to solidify the tenuous breakup. She turned her head slightly but didn't say anything to him. Finally she grabbed her head and groaned, and Grif felt an instant wave of relief. Here comes hurricane Sarge, hurricane Sarge he could definitely deal with.

"Fucking backache!" she said through clenched teeth.

"What?" Grif asked.

"I said I've got a fucking backache!" Sister shouted. "Ugh, I hate being pregnant!"

"Right. That's what you said the first time it happened. Yet here we are again. You really think you would have figured this out by now."

She gave him a look that was probably a glare behind the visor; then, got up and started pacing the floor.

"Listen, Sis..."

"What?" She snapped. "What? What could you possibly have to say that you didn't say already? You here to remind me that I got fuckin' dumped? Or like, that he doesn't love me? Or just to remind me- _again_ \- that the Turbo Booster Anti-Viral, is only 89 percent effective at preventing breakouts of Xeta Herpes?"

"I'm here to see if you were okay." Grif snapped back. "Or needed anything?"

"Needed anything?" At the tone of her voice Grif braced himself for the storm. He got the silence instead. She sat down next to him.

Finally, Sister spoke. "Grif, do you think he really loved me?"

Grif couldn't reply. He couldn't choose between lies and damnation, and he didn't really know which answer was which.

"Have _you_ ever, like, been in love?" She asked.

"You mean with a person?"

Sister looked at him. "What, you don't still have that cardboard cutout of Rachel Ray, do you?"

"No." Grif said quickly. Sister didn't look away. "Not with me." He added. When she didn't respond, he blurted out, "She's in a vault buried under the crawl space of Grandpa's beach shack. The key is in my safety deposit box at the Honolulu branch of New Old Mombasa State Bank. If you get the message I've been killed in action- I mean, _when_ \- slip her in the lid of my coffin."

Sister didn't respond. Instead, she hunched over and groaned.

Grif gripped her arm, "Sis, you okay?" He then caught sight of someone else entering from an outside door, and stood up in a panic. "Sarge!"

"S-dog!" Sister exclaimed.

Sarge nodded at her. "I just talked to Simmons."

Grif backed up, inching toward the opposite exit. "What did he tell you?"

Sarge stared him down. "Everything." He said. Ominously.

Grif took another cautious step to the door. "Riiight, and what exactly does 'everything' entail?"

"Doesn't matter." Sarge grunted, and turned from Grif to Sister. He walked over to where she was sitting. "In fact, only one thing matters."

"What's that?" She asked.

He crouched down beside her."That you're having a baby." Sarge took her hand, "And I'm gonna be here. Until you're safe or I'm dead." She looked down to their joined hands and then raised her visor to face his. "And Miss Kay, I promise, I'm not gonna go, until _you_ tell me to go." Sister didn't say anything.

Grif wasn't looking at Sarge and his Sister. He was looking out the door, to the snow and rocks outside. "Guys..."

"Dammit Grif!" Sarge growled. "Can't you tell you are ruining a very touching and romantic moment?"

There was a sudden pop of laser fire, and the force field became a rippling sheet of repelled energy and projectiles. The sounds of furious honking filled the air.

"Guys!" Grif said, "Either we're being attacked by space geese..."

Sarge joined him at the door. "Or there's a mess of angry armed aliens outside."

"The same ones as before?" Grif asked.

"I don't know," Sarge said scanning the view from the door, "They all look alike to me!"

Grif paused. "That sounded kinda racist."

"Aliens aren't a race," Sarge snapped, "They're an enemy abomination!"

"And that sounded _really_ racist."

"Shut up, Grif!"

X X X

In the ice bunker, Tucker and Caboose had gathered by the' friend' pile. They were crouched over the SOS beacon. Tucker nudged Caboose.

"Well, are we gonna activate this thing, or what?" he asked.

"I don't know." Caboose scratched his head. "I'm not supposed to push buttons any more. Not after what happened on-"

Tucker waved an interruption. "Yeah, yeah, don't remind me. But aren't you pretending this is Church? You're always pushing his buttons."

"I guess you're right!" Caboose poised his finger over the center of the cross.

"Wait!" Simmons said, as he entered from the direction of Red Base. "What are you guys doing?"

"Oh, yeah." Tucker pointed to the beacon. "Wash told us, apparently this thing..."

"Church." Caboose corrected.

"Right, 'Church', is an emergency SOS beacon. We just push the button and the army will come pick us up!"

Simmons glanced behind him, looking toward the two bases. "Well, maybe we should wait."

"Wait what?" Tucker said. "We haven't gotten through to Doc, or anyone else who will give us a ride."

"But that'll call the military!" Simmons protested.

"Um, if you haven't noticed this by now... We are _in_ the fuckin' military."

"Yeah, about that..." Simmons stammered. "I was just, I was kind of thinking..."

"No. _You_ , Simmons?" Tucker scoffed, " _Thinking_? You were thinking?"

Caboose looked sideways at Tucker, "I'm pretty sure he w-"

"I was being sarcastic, Caboose."

Simmons kept his train of thought on the tracks. "Well, haven't you ever wanted to leave the army?"

"Are you kidding?" Tucker laughed, "Are you kidding?!" he asked again, half-crazed.

Simmons backed up awkwardly, "Um, is _that_ rhetorical?"

"He's called _sarcastic_." Caboose corrected him.

"Of course it's a fucking rhetorical question!" Tucker snapped. "You want a rhetorical answer?""

"My mom says it's not nice to call other people 'rhetorical'." Caboose cautioned. "You're supposed to call them 'slow'."

"And, Caboose, you are fucking _glacial_." Tucker turned to face Simmons. "Being in the army sucks dicks. Always has."

Simmons hesitated, "So maybe we don't call?" he suggested, "Maybe we take this chance to go home. To get away from them?"

"Get away from _who_?" Tucker asked.

From outside came the sudden frenzied war cry of a swarm of angry alien zealots.

Caboose sighed. "Now see _that_. That is why you don't go around saying things are 'rhetorical'. It's bad! And it gives you bad luck."

"Like karma?" Simmons asked.

"Caramel? I'd love some!"

Tucker shouted, "Behind us!" At the large entrance to the bunker that led outside, two aliens were taking up firing positions, while another two seemed to be gearing up to rush in to the cave itself.

"Fuck fuck fuck!" Tucker ran to the door jamb, slapping the walls frantically searching. "There's gotta be a switch, some doors, something." By some minor miracle, or perhaps it was a modicum of saved up karma, Tucker found a button. The alien's forward assault was abruptly halted by heavy metal blast doors slamming in their split-mouth faces.

"Great," Simmons said, "but what about..."

"The other behind us!" Caboose cried. A yellow-armored alien armed with a purple spiky handgun was crouched in the hole in the ice between the tunnel leading to Red Base and the Tunnel leading to Blue Base. The hole led directly outside, and it had no doors.

"Blarg!" The alien raised its weapon.

"Shit!" All three soldiers began firing recklessly in the alien's direction. A few shots glanced off the alien's armor. Most hit the walls.

But Caboose managed a bulls-eye on the tactical assault bomb that he had christened, 'Tex'. She beeped in protest.

The three humans and one alien had only a split second to register panic, and then 'Tex' the bomb, and 'Lopez' the land mine, and 'Andy' the plasma grenade, all detonated simultaneously.

X X X

"Holy flying fuck what was that?" Grif nearly dropped his rifle. The last echoes of the blast rang in his ears.

"That was an explosion, Grif." Sarge grunted, as he heaved a large storage crate into place. "Because we're in a blasted combat situation!"

"Well what are we gonna do?" Grif asked.

"What I've been doing for the last minute!" Sarge pressed his hands against another crate and started muscling it to the large door. "Fortify our position and start laying down some cover fire." He pushed one last time, and admired his work. "You can stand in that gap there, that way you can catch some bullets with your massive girth."

"What about my sister?"

Sarge turned to look at Sister. She was leaning against a makeshift barricade set up at one of the smaller entrances. "She's a woman, so she'll do what she was born to do."

She silently pulled out her gun, and then checked her cartridge with trembling hands. She scanned the horizon outside.

"Wait for it..." Sarge said to Grif.

Finally Sister collapsed over the box, and pounded it with one hand, letting out a loud, shrill howl.

Sarge put his hands on his hips, appraising, "More of a shout than a scream, but I've gotta admire that lungpower. Now where the hell is Simmons? My ass is long overdue for an enthusiastic kissing."

Grif peered through the doorway. "Looks like the ice tunnel had a cave-in!"

"Simmons! Simmons, report!" Sarge barked through his radio.

" _We're trapped down here!_ " Simmons answered. " _We managed to shut the entrance to the bunker. Aliens slipped in from behind._ "

Tucker cut in over the airwaves." _Dude, really?_ "

" _Well, you would know!_ " Simmons spat back.

"What was that explosion?" Grif asked.

Simmons explained. " _Some of Caboose's more volatile friends got caught in the crossfire._ "

" _Tex killed everyone._ " Caboose sniffed.

"There's a shocker." Grif said.

" _It collapsed all the tunnels!_ " Simmons panicked. " _We can't get out!_ "

Tucker added. " _But they can't get in._ "

" _Glass half full!_ " Caboose chirped.

"Excellent work, Simmons!" Sarge said.

" _What about you, Sir?_ "

"We've got three entrances, three barricades, and there's three of us. We've got this." He said, confidently.

Sister had slid down the side of the crate and was now sitting splay-legged on the floor. She let out a cry that was now bordering on a scream.

Sarge shook his head. "She's got Donut's passion, but not quite his flair."

As her groan continued, Grif turned to watch her. "Sis?"

X X X

Simmons was pacing in the dark. The only light, the various flickering lights on their armor and weapons.

Tucker stood watching him. "What are we going to do?"

A pile of ice chunks, dripping and fusing as they refroze, blocked the tunnels from bunker to base. Caboose was gaping at the shards of debris laced through the barrier; the remains of his 'friends.'

Simmons stared at the metal bunker door. The aliens had stopped banging on it. "Where is Washington? He could probably take all these guys out single handed."

Tucker sucked air in through his teeth. "Oh, yeah... Turns out-"

"He's not coming to the party." Caboose finished, and sat on the ground in a slump.

"What?"

"Yeah," Tucker said, bitterly, "Apparently he decided that he was better of without us, or couldn't stand being around us, or was feeling guilty about stuff or whatever. Left us a message saying that he's never coming back."

"What?" Simmons squealed, "What is he, my dad?"

Tucker threw his arms in the air. "That's what I said!"

"Wait, really?"

"Shut up! We are not having a moment!" Tucker watched as Simmons began clawing through the ice pile. "What are you doing?" he asked.

"What does it look like I'm doing?"

"Digging yourself a preemptive grave?"

"Well, I'm _trying_ to find that emergency beacon thing. Maybe it's still working."

Caboose suddenly snapped out of his funk and dove into working beside Simmons. "Right. We have to find Church!

Tucker was skeptical. "You think that that thing is going to be in one piece after being blown up and then buried?"

Caboose tugged on a blackened metal handle in the rubble and managed to pry a slightly dented sphere from the ice. "Church! I found you!" He cradled the sphere in his lap.

"Huh," Tucker said, "It looks almost in one piece."

Simmons crouched beside Caboose. "Here goes nothing." He pressed the button in the center of the faintly flickering cross. The ball whirred and sputtered, before finally letting out a puff of black smoke and a mournful electronic wail.

"You're right." Tucker said standing over them, "That was certainly nothing."

Caboose jiggled the ball slightly. "Church, come on, Church." he coaxed with an air of desperation. "You can do it." The white light dimmed. Then it was gone completely. "Church..." Caboose sounded lost in a confusion that bordered on realization. "Church?"

Simmons put a hand on his arm. "Caboose, you know that wasn't Church right? That wasn't even a piece of Church."

The silence while Tucker and Simmons waited for Caboose's brain to catch up somehow made the tiny, black, ice cave feel even smaller. Finally Caboose laid the broken distress beacon on the floor, and stood up. "Yeah." he sighed. "I know. I really wanted to try though. I guess I thought...I thought that maybe... it would be easier to try than to not to try. I thought that's what real Church wanted."

Outside the trio could hear gunfire, "Well what are we going to do _now_?" Tucker asked.

"Call for help the old fashioned way, I guess." Simmons replied.

"Flare guns?" Tucker guessed, "Smoke signals? Vague emotional facebook posts?"

Simmons ignored him and put a hand to the side of his helmet. "This is Private First Class Dick Simmons broadcasting on an open channel. We are under attack by renegade alien forces. I repeat, we are UNSC Soldiers."

"Kind of." added Tucker.

Simmons tried to ignore him and continue, "We're under attack by renegade alien forces. Send help! We have women and children with us!"

"Well, technically just one woman, and kind of one kid, I guess; depends on where you stand on that whole life beginning at conce-"

"Tucker shut up!" Simmons yelled, "Please send help! We are under siege!"

X X X

It was lucky that Simmons sent the transmission when he did. If he'd waited any longer, Washington would have driven out of range of Simmons' broadcast.

Washington stopped the vehicle as the message came in. He listened but didn't reply right away. Looking out across the ice and snow of the tundra, he deliberated. There was a part of him that told him to keep moving, and he wondered how big a part of himself that pragmatic, ruthless, voice spoke for.

Too big. Much too big a part. There had been a time in his life where he would have done a U-turn with no hesitation at all. Washington made a solemn oath to himself, then and there, that he would never listen to that voice again. He would starve that monster into silence or die trying. But first he turned the alien vehicle around.

It was lucky that Washington turned the ghost when he did. If he'd waited any longer the alien called Smith would have put a sniper rifle shot right through Washington's visor. As it was, the projectile pierced through the former Freelancer's shoulder and embedded itself in his ride's console, right into the homing device activated on the dash. Washington rolled off the ghost and into the snow just as the engine exploded.


	15. Duel of Fates

To Sarge's back was the wide side door, fortified by a series of hastily put together, yet carefully positioned, barricades. One was beyond the force field door, to be used for cover fire, the other within, as a fall back. To his front, was the interior of the base, glowing power sphere on left, walled off alcove on right, and beyond were the three smaller doors. The one on his left was guarded by Grif, who crouched just outside behind a large box, battle rifle peeking over the edge. The middle door was a short hallway leading down to a dark jigsaw of broken ice chunks blocking the way.

At the door to his right, Sister sat with her back to a barricade. She was breathing, hard; her hands grasping and peeling up the black body suit from around her belly. Her double bladed handgun lay abandoned at her side.

Sarge glanced outside, scanning for alien hostiles, but it seemed that the earlier suppressing fire from all entrances had the aliens under cover; reassessing.

"Missy? Is this what I think it is?"

Sister's voice trembled, "Um, I don't know, I..." Then she curled over and shrieked, "Gaaaaah! Fuck! Yeah! Yeah, I think this is it!"

Grif ducked inside. "Sis! You can't be in labor."

"Grif, For once in your miserable- yet not nearly short enough- life, don't be stupid." Sarge sighed in resignation, hunting the icy snowscape outside for any sign of their attackers. "Of course she is."

"But she can't be!" Grif insisted. "We're under attack by who knows how many aliens, under-manned and low on ammo! We have three doors to guard, and we can't do that with only two of us."

"So, basically what you're saying is that there is literally no worse time for her to be havin' a baby?"

"Yes, that's what I'm..." Grif stopped. "Oh fuck. She's in labor."

Sarge jabbed a thumb at the big door, and started across the room. "Right, Grif, stay on that one. I'll take these two." He knelt down next to Sister and slid one arm under her shoulders. Her panting and groans had subsided. "Okay little lady, let's get you to the safes-"

"No." She shook her head and slid out from under his arm. "No, I've... I've got this. At least, I've got it for like... four minutes at a time." She picked up her gun and again took up the watch.

He didn't move away from her. "Miss Kay?"

"No!" She barked at him. "Haven't you ever heard how people when they're totally, really stressed, or super emotional can get really, really strong?"

Sarge rocked back on his heels, stunned. "Well, as a matter of fact..."

"Well I'm fucking emotional! And so stressed that I think if one of those big slimy assholes even gets close to me right now I'm going to blow his fuckin' head off!"

"What?" Grif said from the smaller door he was still guarding.

"Blarg," Said the pale green armored alien from the wide door that no one had been watching.

"Die motherfucker!" Sister shrieked, spike gun in hand, and made good on her threat. The alien's head didn't explode though; instead he fell limply to the ground with a perfect round smoking hole in his helmet.

Sarge and Grif stared from smoking corpse to laboring woman.

"I love you." Sarge blurted out.

X X X

In the haze after the alien vehicle exploded, Washington was dimly aware of an approaching vibration, a sound growing louder as it grew closer. What held his attention though was York's lighter, half buried in the snow in front of him.

He reached out to the lighter with his good arm, though he felt ashamed to touch it. Because now it reminded him how he had trailed along in the wake of death, always two steps too far back to save people who had once been his closest friends; York and Delta, North and Theta, and even Tex. Washington knew they had every reason to be on the run from Freelancer. But he had stayed on the inside, waiting for his opportunity to take it all down; and putting the hope of revenge above helping them.

Washington wrapped a hand around his last concrete physical link to his old team. Well, _almost_ the last link. Pain eased out of his shoulder, and his head cleared, as York's old healing unit began to knit his wounds. Still, he wouldn't be able to use his right arm at full strength for hours.

Provided he lived that long. As the approaching vibration and sound grew louder and stronger, he identified the rumbling as an ATV. A human vehicle. But when the engine stopped and the first crunchy footprints hit the snow, the breathing he heard was anything but friendly.

Washington lay completely still, as the footsteps got nearer. He felt, rather than saw, the shadow of his assailant fall on him and freeze.

With a shout Washington rolled over as quickly as his injury would allow, pointing his battle rifle with his one good arm. Unable to aim precisely, he fired a random spread up at his attacker. He managed to hit the alien in the hand and the shoulder, and it dropped the sniper rifle it was carrying.

It was the lavender armored alien, Smith. Washington groaned as he stood. A wave of frustration, disgust, and annoyance washed over him with an almost physical discomfort. "You? You have got to be kidding me." He raised the rifle again, and Smith took at tucking roll to the right, as Washington shot a stream of bullets after him. "You have got to be fucking kidding me!" he screamed.

Smith rolled up to his feet, and pulled up his sidearm. It was the human's turn to hit the snowy ground as Smith shot a hail of purple spikes where his chest had been. Washington fired while prone, and Smith flinched long enough for him to pop up into a crouch and duck behind the wrecked alien vehicle.

Washington poked his head above cover just enough to ease his battle rifle over the edge to take aim at the coverless Smith. However the gun made a distressing clicking sound when he pulled the trigger.

"Dammit!" He grabbed frantically for his ammo pouch, taking his eyes off Smith for a second as he reloaded. But by the time he peeked over the wreckage again, Smith was no longer in his sights. Washington looked to his left; nothing. He looked to his right in time to see a four fingered fist holding a purple pincushion of a gun speeding toward his face.

Washington staggered back at the blow, his battle rifle flying from his hands to parts unknown. Smith raised his gun for the killing shot, and Washington made a flying tackle, wrapping his arms around Smith's legs, sending them both into the snow. He managed a few solid punches to Smith's helmet, but the purple armor was unyielding. So he gripped the helmet and ripped it clean off. The alien managed to plant a foot against Washington's chest and kick him away.

They both stood. Smith glared at Washington with beady black eyes, his split jawed mouth quivering in rage. He glanced around for a second, looking futilely for the gun he had dropped.

Washington pulled his knife from its sheath as he sized up the seven foot tall armored alien. "Looks like we're doing this the old fashioned way." He said. And his voice was cold and deadly as the steel.

X X X

Simmons and Tucker sat across from each other in the dark, cold bunker. "Dude man, you okay?" Tucker asked, "You look more depressed than Caboose. And all his friends just exploded."

"Again!" Caboose was near the ice pile, pulling listlessly at 'Shelia's' blackened, exposed, circuitry.

"Why shouldn't I be depressed?" Simmons scoffed. "We're trapped in a life or death situation that is totally out of our control!"

"Right, and tell me again how the last few weeks of your life have gone?"

Simmons counted off on his fingers. "Attacked by the Meta, attacked by Wash, attacked by the Meta again, menaced by aliens, beat up by Tex, plane crash, attacked by the Meta again, plane crash, attacked by aliens, ship crash, then attacked by the same goddamn aliens. So what?"

"So," Tucker gestured around the cave, "How the fuck is right now different from the last month of your life?"

"Yeah, but then we could at least try to fight back, instead of just sitting here!"

"We can still fight back! They break through, and we'll shoot em."

"Really? 'Cause I'm outta ammo." Simmons tossed his rifle through the shadows. "How many rounds do you have left?"

Tucker looked down at his gun. "Uhh..." He turned to the other Blue in the cave. "Caboose? Are you out of ammo too?"

"No." Caboose raised his rifle and fired three rounds at the wall. "There. I fixed it."

"Fuck." Tucker said.

"Your sword still works? Right?' Simmons asked nervously.

"Uh yeah. It's a _sword_. What you think it's got like, a limited number of stabs in it? Don't be retarded."

Silence reigned in the tiny cave. So quiet they could hear the pop of gunfire outside. Earlier Simmons had been forbidden from getting on the radio any more just to ask, 'So, how's it going up there?'

"It doesn't matter." Simmons muttered, finally, "We're never going home anyway."

Tucker didn't reply.

"I spy, with my little eye," Caboose started, mournfully, "Something that begins with S..."

Neither Tucker nor Simmons answered.

"Any one wanna guess? Anyone? Anyone? Anyone? Anyone? Anyone? Anyone? Anyone? Anyone? Anyone? Anyone?" Caboose stared in their direction. "Anyone?"

Tucker sighed, "Snow?"

"No."

"Snow... balls?"

"No."

"Snow... cake?"

"No."

"Then?" Tucker asked.

"Sadness."

Tucker stood up, suddenly animated. "Pish. Never going home? Whatever, I mean, what does that even mean?"

Simmons was rattled out of his stupor. "What?"

"Yeah, you heard me. If by home you mean Earth, well hell I don't care if I ever go back! Plenty of chicks out here in space. And, you go to Earth, you gotta pay like taxes, and social security and dental and all that shit."

Simmons shook his head. "No, I mean going _home_ , to your family and friends."

"You're got frien-"

"To your family."

"You got family on Earth?"

"Well, I'm an only child so..."

"No kidding? Me too."

"Really?"

Tucker shrugged. "Well, if you look at if one way, I'm an only child. If you look at it another way, I got 6 brothers from another mother, 3 sisters from another mister, and 7 sises and 2 bros halvsies on the flipside."

Simmons shook his head. "Somewhere a social worker is weeping."

"I've got 15 sisters." Caboose said.

"Good for you buddy." Tucker said, ignoring him.

"Look." he continued to Simmons. "My point is, that ain't 'home' to me. I can't even name half my half-sisters! I send my mom an email every now and then, sure. But ever since she saw pictures of the grandson, she's been linking me all this demonic alien corporate conspiracy apocalyptic bullshit by some televangelist she watches. And you, you're telling me that you got someone on earth you're itching to live within a hundred thousand miles of? Or, like, some kind of super nerdy lame career you planned to dedicate your life to that being in the army put on hold?

"I wanted to be a Mooncowboy." Caboose said, "Ride my moon cows across the Milky Way and learn to play the harpsichord."

Tucker continued to ignore Caboose. "I'll tell you what'll happen if we ever go back to Earth." he said to Simmons. "We'll be the same bored, boring, terrible people we've always been; but we'll be surrounded by even more boring terrible people that we don't really know, but who think they can borrow money from us! And we'll go to boring terrible jobs, and have boring terrible lives. But instead look what we've done in the last month. Yeah, we could have died-"

"We still could die." Simmons interrupted. "In fact, we're probably going to die."

"But, fuck, at least our deaths will be interesting!"

"But don't you ever want to get away from this?" Simmons asked, "To go to a nice place, surrounded by people you like and who like you, where you feel welcome?"

"Well, yeah! But that's an all expenses paid Caribbean cruise, not home! Home is being surrounded by people who you usually feel pretty meh about, but you're obligated to spend time with and help for some reason. You kinda hate them, but you also have the nagging feeling that you couldn't live without them, because then you wouldn't have someone to complain to who already knows, in detail, everything you've ever hated and why."

Tucker slid down the wall to sit across from Simmons again. "Look. It's like what Sarge said before; if we really wanted to leave that bad, we could have. Hell I did, for, like two years, and we still wind up thrown together, like a fucking family reunion. So, if we die here, we totally asked for it."

"Well, what about your kid?" Simmons asked, "Don't you want to see him again?"

"Fuck yeah I wanna see him again! I haven't seen him for like, months. Family is home, home is family, that's what I've been _saying_." Tucker fiddled with his sword, avoiding visor contact with the Red. "I'd give anything, up to and including winning lottery tickets, to see him one more time."

The silence only lasted a minute this time, before Caboose started into a mournful tune.

"Oh give me a home, where the beefalos roam, where the beer and the cantaloupe stay. Where seldom is heard an encouraging word, and the eyes are not cloudy all day.

X X X

Luckily for the defenders of Blue Base, Agent Washington had carefully collected and sorted all the ammunition he had brought from the crashed ship and found, and had packed it away in clearly marked munitions boxes. Sarge even managed to dig up a small, strangely marked, crate that held clips for Sister's spike-shooting, knife-sporting handgun.

At this point, however, they were mostly holding their fire. Scanning the blinding white ridgelines for any sign of their besiegers, and firing warning shots if they saw so much as a helmet top or claw fingered hand.

"Keep it up ladies! I think we've got them on the ropes!" Sarge said.

"On the ropes?" Grif scoffed. "We haven't hit one!"

"I hit one!" Sister reminded him. She took a deep breath and reloaded, leaning on her barricade for support. All things considered, she was holding up remarkably well between contractions. But each contraction was a dangerous minute where she wasn't watching her entrance.

"Congratulations Sis! One out of God knows how many!"

"Yes, but they haven't killed one of us yet." Sarge said. "We're winning the war of attrition. As long as they keep using up their bullets, or purple crystals, or fairy dust or whatever the hell they're got those laser guns running on, we'll stay ahead." His encouragement was just a hint too forceful, bordering on desperate. "We can win this! It'll be just like the Alamo!"

"Sad, but predictable." Grif sighed to himself, shocked that he remembered what the Alamo actually was.

"Wait," Sister gasped through clenched teeth, "I I think I can feel another one " She slid under cover, panting and trying to swallow down groans.

"How long does this usually take?" Grif asked.

"Could be a couple hours, could be months." Sarge grunted.

"What?"

"You can't put a timetable on things like this! Why the ancient siege of Troy took ten years, before the Trojans saddled a Goliath sized horse with primitive C4 and sent that mutant beast galloping into the enemy's camp, Kamikaze style. Equus Caboomus."

"I mean _labor_!" Grif snapped. "Sis?"

"How the hell should I know?" She hissed, "I've never done this before!"

"Well haven't you read books, pamphlets, something?"

"Okay fine! Lopez did give me some. But they were in Spanish."

"You can read Spanish!" Grif was incredulous.

"No, I can speak Spanish. And I sure as fuck didn't drop out of college and join the army to do homework."

"Yeah, cuz obviously you dropped-"

"Grif, shut the fuck up and gimme more ammo!" Sister let out a long sigh through her teeth, and relaxed slightly.

"Missy!" Sarge tossed her a clip. "Here."

"Thanks." She gripped her barricade and pulled herself into a trembling crouch.

Sarge glanced at her, concerned, and turned on his radio. "Tucker, how long does labor take?"

" _What? Oh fuck. Sis is in labor, isn't she?_ "

"Time frame." Sarge growled.

" _Um...I don't...Caboose, you remember how long it was?_ "

" _Um...yeah, I can only remember how long it was since my last snack break._ "

"Tucker, you're the only one who has any experience."

" _Seventeen days, four hours, thirteen minutes and twenty seven...twenty eight...twenty-_ "

"Caboose, shut up!" Sarge barked. "Tucker! E.T.A on the B.A.B.Y A.S.A.P."

" _Listen, Sarge, when you've had a foot long, clawed, alien fetus desperately scrambling around deep inside you, looking for an exit, that biologically speaking, isn't really there...you're not exactly keeping an eye out for a stopwatch._ "

From where he was crouching, Grif shuddered. "Well Tucker, as always, you're no help whatsoever. Thanks for the horrific imagery though. Very comforting in a time like-"

"Grif! Can it!" Sarge cut him off.

" _Oh, that's right,_ " Caboose said, " _You need to make soup! I remember that from last time._ "

"I said quiet!" Sarge shouted. His hand was up to the side of his helmet.

"What are you trying to do?" Sister asked.

"I'm callin' Doc again."

"Um," Grif glanced behind. "I think it's a little late for-"

"I know that!" Sarge said, "But maybe he can walk one of us through-"

A bright chipper voice chirped from Sarge's helmet " _You've reached the voice mail-_ "

"Damnit!" Sarge punched the barricade in front of him. "I swear, the next time I so much as hear that lavender lily-livered little twinkle toes' voice I'm gonna point this shotgun right at his yoohoo and shove both barrels right where..."

Sister slipped from her crouched position, and fell sideways with a clatter.

"Kay?" Sarge turned around in alarm.

"It's okay," She gripped her barricade and pulled herself up to her knees. "Just... just dizzy. But that one, that one's over... I... I got this."

Sarge watched her and wondered for how long.

X X X

Washington jumped back to dodge another sweeping grab from Smith. Both combatants were bruised, battered and exhausted, and the formerly pristine snow around them had turned into a kicked-up mess stained with soot and blood.

The Alien's bare hands were a latticework of gashes and cuts, as he had been rebuffed in numerous attempts to pull Washington into his grip, where his height and strength could quickly overpower the smaller human.

Washington gripped the knife tightly, knowing it was his only slim advantage in this fight. They circled each other slowly, feinting, looking for any opening to finish the battle. Smith's tiny black eyes bored into him with the same deadly serious determination, but for Washington adrenaline mixed with exhaustion was pushing his psyche to the breaking point.

He laughed. "Ohh ... a brutal battle to the death against a monosyllabic giant with a grudge and a death wish. And look: there's even snow here too. And I've got a knife. And you blew up my ride out of here. Where have I seen this before?" He charged Smith, ducking around his reaching arm to jam and elbow into Smith's knee. The Alien warrior spun, catching Washington and tossing him across the tundra. Washington drug himself to his feet as quickly as his weary body was able. "I am sick and fucking tired of going in circles!"

His radio crackled to life again. " _This is Private Simmons broadcasting on an open channel, we are still under attack. Listen, is anyone out there? Is anyone listening?_ "

"Simmons, this is Wash." He hit the side of his helmet. "Simmons?" There was no response. Washington glared at Smith. "Jamming me, huh? But not them. That's cute. That's really fucking cute!"

Washington grabbed his side and fell to his knees, hissing in pain. Smith saw his opportunity and rushed in. Only to have Washington sweep the alien's feet out from under him. Washington sat on Smith's back, his leg twisting around an arm, pinning it. He grabbed one toothed mandible, wrenched Smith's head back, and pressed the knife to the scales of his throat.

"Call them off." Washington commanded, "Call them off _now_! Or we'll get to see how well your alien buddies can patch you up when you're missing your head." Smith stared up at him. Washington could feel on his hand the hot air of Smith's ragged breathing.

"I'm counting to three." Washington warned. "And this head is going to go. One."

"Two."

"Three."

Smith was silent, his eyes daring the human to act, mocking him. Washington pressed the knife harder against the grey-black alien's flesh. "I meant three and then go!" he growled.

Simmons voice came over the airwaves again, sounding more dismayed than ever. " _Um... don't know if this has any effect on anyone who may be listening. But that woman I mentioned earlier, yeah, um, she's having a baby. Like right now. So if anyone could come and help save us from these aliens who want to murder us... that would be great._ "

"Goddamn it!" Washington smashed Smith's face into the snow, rolled off the alien's back, and quickly dashed out of reach. "Okay. Okay, you know what? You're right. You've got every reason to want revenge. If I were you, I'd be after the same damn thing."

Smith slowly stood, staring at Washington in amazement.

"We're not so different, you and I." Washington said, "You followed someone you thought you could trust, who led you into doing some pretty shady things. And when he pushed you one step too far, you chose to fight back. Then, the second you thought you were getting what you wanted, everything you'd worked and sacrificed for, some asshole just shows up out of nowhere and gives you a punishment you didn't see coming. I get that. Believe me, I do."

Washington pointed with his knife to his chest. "But I made a mistake. I took my anger out on the wrong people. Those guys at the base, they don't have anything to do with what's pissing you off. I'm the one you really want. Don't you make the same mistake I did. Call them off," Washington looked at his knife, and then tossed it blade first into the snow. "And you can have _me_. If you want me to fight you, I'll fight you. Or if you want me to roll over and die, well, I guess that's what I deserve. But leave them out of it."

Washington kicked Smith's discarded helmet, and it skidded across the snow stopping beside Smith. "Make the call." Washington pleaded. "And then you can get whatever justice you want from me."

Smith looked down at the helmet, then up at Washington. He knelt down and picked up the lavender helmet, reached inside and pulled out the radio.

He crushed the radio in his bleeding hand, and tossed the broken circuitry at Washington's feet.

Washington hadn't yet gotten over his shock, when the alien warrior charged.


	16. Baby Mama Drama

Sister had her back to her barricade, trying to remember to breathe, trying to remember something, anything, from the pamphlets Lopez had given her. It would be easier if there wasn't a constant barrage of laser fire impacting on the force field door above her head. Suddenly a low sinking tone echoed through the base, and the lights on the walls and the ceiling blinked out. A purple spike projectile whizzed above her helmet. She stuck her arm around the crate and peppered the snow banks outside haphazardly.

"Something just happened with the doors." Her voice was trembling.

"What?" Sarge whirled around.

"Yeah," she pointed. "Look, the force fields are down."

"Whu-oh, that's not good." Sarge said, and ran to Sister's side.

"Why?" Grif asked

A purple sphere sailed through a door and landed in the center of the room hissing menacingly.

"Everyone duck!" Grif shouted, diving behind the base's power sphere. Sarge grabbed Sister's arm and pulled her behind the partition wall in the base. He pressed her to the very bottom of the wall and crouched over her. The grenade went off rattling the base itself.

"That is NOT GOOD!" Grif agreed.

Tucker's voice came over the radio. " _Heya, we heard an-_ "

"The doors are down!" Sarge jogged back to a doorway, and began spraying the snow banks with buckshot, hoping to keep the alien grenadier off balance. "We've got no shields."

" _What? Shit. You try turning it off and on again?_ "

"Tucker!" Grif pushed his barricade further out the door on the other side, hoping to keep that whole base's side clear. "What the hell?"

" _No, seriously. It sounds like you need to reboot the generators. That's how this alien shit works._ "

Simmons came on the radio. " _Reboot the generators?_ "

" _Yeah, it's not hard, you just turn a crank, and press a button, then flip a switch. It'll get the base back to running at full power._ "

" _Why didn't you tell us this before?_ "

" _The shields weren't' down before._ "

" _No I mean, I've been spending the past week trying to fix the power in Red base._ "

" _The power is down at your base?_ "

"Not the time!" Sarge interrupted. "So whereabouts in here are the switches to flip and flips to switch?"

" _Oh, they're not in the base. They're outside, on the generators._ "

Sarge looked out the wide side door, to the two ten foot tall purple generators sitting less than a hundred yards away from the base.

"Tucker, can you walk us through the reboot once I get out there?"

" _Uhm yeah._ "

"Sarge?" Grif turned to the Red leader.

"It's no good." Sarge reloaded his shotgun, and then refilled his ammo pouches from a munitions crate. "Someone's gotta make a run for it."

"Are you crazy? That's suicide!"

"Don't be stupid, Grif! If it were suicide I would be having _you_ do it!"

"No!" Sister had managed to pull herself into a standing position, and was now leaning heavily on the partition. "No don't go!" She reached a yellow gloved hand out to him.

"Sorry, Miss." Sarge said. "Sometimes a man's gotta do what a _man_ has got to do. So the only man here better damn well do it."

"But-"

"Nope. Now Grif get over to the opposite door and give me some cover fire."

Sarge knelt by the barricade, looked both ways, and then ran for it.

Though he had no idea how many aliens there were, the past few hours of the standoff had given him a pretty good idea where at least some of them were hiding. He knew a few were hiding between the base and the cliff, in the rocks, rocks that were within line of sight from the generators, so that became the focus of his attention. He heard a pop and the shrill sound of a projectile blowing past him.

Grif fired out the door in the direction of the underpass, as Sarge slid to a stop by the generators, putting the purple metal cylinders between himself and the rocks.

"Okay now Tucker." Sarge panted, "Instructions!"

As Tucker walked Sarge through the restart procedures, Sister slid back to the floor where Sarge had put her. The pain was coming faster and more intense, expounded by panic and fear. When she wasn't squinting her eyes shut through the contractions, she watched the door where Sarge had left, her heart pounding in her chest.

" _Now turn that crank 90 degrees to your left._ " Tucker instructed.

"Is that a my-your..."

" _Dear GOD! Are we seriously having this conversation again?!_ "

"Okay, done."

" _Right, that's it. Now you just have to get back inside the base and-- wait, what's that hissing sound?_ "

"What now?" Sarge looked down, a round glowing sphere was hissing at his feet. "Son of a-" The grenade went off.

Within the Blue Base Sister flinched at the blast. "No!"

"Dad!" Grif yelled.

She pressed her hands to the side of her helmet and repeated to herself "No, no, no no no."

" _Dad?_ " Tucker asked.

" _Sooo,_ " Simmons asked cautiously, " _How are things going up there?_ "

For a terrible moment, everything and everyone was motionless except for the clearing smoke. Then Sarge coughed. He couldn't hear himself coughing, because his ears were ringing, and his helmet's audios were temporarily overloaded. He could feel it though, the coughing was agony. He grabbed at the epicenter of his pain, and pulled out a five inch piece of bloody shrapnel from his side. He tasted metal in the back of his throat. As the blackness at the edge of his vision receded, he could see the alien grenadier approaching from the direction of Caboose's ice cave. He staggered to a knee and grabbed his shotgun. "Miss Kay? Can you hear me?" He wheezed. There was no reply.

"Grif!" He barked.

" _Um yeah, don't know if she can really answer right now._ " Grif replied, and Sarge could hear moaning in the background.

"Grif?" Sarge was steadying himself with one hand in the snow now. Trying to stop the world from spinning around him.

" _Yeah, Sarge? _"__

____

____

He looked down at his shotgun. "You tell your sister, that I'm sorry." Aiming shakily at the alien, Sarge pulled the trigger but the alien dodged and his shot went wide. The alien was almost on top of him, closing in for a more personal kill. He struggled to stand, to reload his weapon, but he was seeing things in double now, and the ground was pitching beneath his feet. He coughed again, winced and slumped over in the reddened snow. The alien stood over him, glaring at him with emotionless, gleaming black eyes. Sarge tried to raise his gun, but alien stepped on it, then it raised its weapon, a pincushion of jagged purple spikes. "Dammit." He whispered to himself, "Today is _not_ a good day to die."

Regardless, Sarge tried to stare death right in the face. He would have spit in its eye, but he was wearing a helmet. But the darkness rose up and embraced him before the monster could pull the trigger.

The Alien warrior was too absorbed in savoring his victory to overhear the steadily louder sound of a motor. The alien didn't see the ATV coming until the bumper rammed into his midsection and the front left wheel ground its thick off-road treads into his face.

Washington skidded to a halt beside the generators. "Damn," he said, "Being on the dealing end of one of those sure felt good."

"Sarge!" He knelt by the fallen Red, then lifted him into a fireman's carry and threw him over the back of the Mongoose. The aliens in the rocks had broken cover to retaliate, and Washington had to ram down half of Sarge's barricade to get through the door and into Blue Base. As he hopped off the vehicle, he ran over and hit a button on the giant power sphere. The energy shield door hummed back to life.

"You! I thought you left." Grif turned from his barricade to look at him.

"Are you complaining?" Washington snapped, as he dragged Sarge from the ATV and over into the alcove. Sister was curled on the floor a few feet away, frozen in pain and fear.

"Sarge?" She called out, her voice trembling.

"Where didja get the new ride?" Grif asked.

"An old friend." Washington answered, ominously. "He doesn't need it anymore." Sarge lay motionless in a heap of blackened and bloody armor plating. Sister looked over at Washington who was removing a component off of his own amour and setting it up beside the Red soldier. "Where are the others?"

"Buried under the ice." Grif replied.

"What!"

"Don't worry, they're okay. Better off than we are. Isn't that right, Simmons?"

" _Grif? Um, yeah so how's it-_ " The radio cut out and was replaced with a low buzz.

"Great, now they're jamming our short-range. Juuuust great." Washington muttered, as he jiggled the dull green prism atop the four legged stand. "Come on, come on. Work, damn it!"

"What is that?" Grif asked. He was looking over the former freelancer's shoulder.

"Guard the goddamn doors!" Washington shouted at him. Grif dashed back to a barricade, and began making a patrol of each door, one by one.

"What, what... is that?" Sister stammered. Washington sighed in relief as the green crystal began glowing bathing Sarge in a gentle rain of emerald particles.

"It's a healing unit." Washington said. "But, it's seen better days."

"Is he, is he...?" Sister panted through gritted teeth.

Washington rolled Sarge onto his back. "His armor has gone into lock down."

"He's not breathing!"

"No, he is. Lockdown mimics death. It's to keep an unconscious soldier from getting a coup-de-grace from an enemy. If the healing unit is working, once Sarge wakes up..." Sister wasn't listening anymore. Another contraction had rendered her a moaning ball of misery, oblivious to the world.

After it passed, he helped her sit up, and pulled off her helmet. When he saw her face, he was taken aback. The bulky armor had disguised how young she was. Washington had lived in a world of strong, battle-hardened soldiers, male or female. In comparison, Grif's sister looked like a scared kid teetering on the edge of shock.

"Now, um, Miss. Let's get the rest of this-" He was cut off by gunfire.

"Uh, yeah. I think they can smell the blood in the water here." Grif shouted. "Or they're pissed about you road-raging their pal." Washington popped to his feet and ran to the opposite door. Sure enough, an alien had left cover and was creeping closer to the entrance. Spotting the human defender taking position, it barely had time to dash back behind a boulder, bullets nipping at its heels. Once it reached cover again, it began spitting back return fire.

Sister sat frozen in fear as she felt another labor pain building. She glanced at Sarge under the healing green light. She gritted her teeth and tried to swallow back a scream.

"Sis!" Grif could hear his sister, but couldn't see her from where he was kneeling. She'd gone quiet, when he was expecting a litany of obscenity at this point.

"Stay focused!" Washington commanded. "If they get in here, we're all dead."

So Sister labored alone, next to the deathly still Sarge, while Washington and Grif traded gunfire with the enemies outside. When the latest contraction dissipated, Sister suddenly burst into tears, overwhelmed by pain and confusion and fear. She was trapped in a base under attack, and in a body under stress; a body that had taken the dial on pain, and suddenly twisted it into a whole new level of impossible.

"Hey there, Goldilocks." A ragged voice whispered. It was Sarge. He rolled over slowly to look at her. "You took your helmet off."

Sister was hysterical, hyperventilating. "I can't. I can't do this...I just, I can't. I... fuck, this hurts! And...and... Fuck! I'm too scared, I'm not...not going to... to be ab-" She broke down again, shaking uncontrollably. Sarge sat up as well as he could and drug himself to her side. The green light from the healing unit followed him. He took her hand, and stared at her blotchy, damp, face, and into her blood-shot, tear-stained eyes.

"You know, Missy, when I first heard Lopez had killed you. I felt pretty good." He said.

"W-what?"

"Yup. After years of blood, sweat, and tears, I finally felt the sweet vicarious taste of victory. We'd won a battlefield, a strategic locale, with double the bases and double the canyon. And I didn't even have to hit a girl." Sister stared at him with a confusion bordering on rage. "But that feeling wore off pretty quick. Then I was grouchy, antsy. I figured it was 'cause for the first time in my life I'd gotten used to getting it pretty regular-like. And now it was back to military monasticism."

"Where… where the _hell_ are you going with thisss?" Sister's question morphed into a hiss, and she squeezed Sarge's hand through the next contraction.

When it was over, Sarge began again. "But I started to realize, it wasn't just the hanky-panky I was hankering after. I was actually sad you were gone. Then, I felt like James Bond. I'd been seduced by a villainous femme fatale, tasted the forbidden fruit of her nefarious embrace, and felt a pang of regret as she had been inevitably taken out by her own evil ways.

"There had better be a point to this." She growled at him.

"But that feeling didn't last either. Try as I might, I couldn't get it to stick in my mind that you were a just a vile blue temptress. You were too sweet, too pure..."

She looked away. "Yeah...about that..." But Sarge pressed on.

"Instead, I came to the conclusion that we were star-crossed lovers. Our tragic affair doomed by the same conflict that brought us together. Our passion as real as it was brief, and the outcome as inevitable as our time together was idyllic. It was like West Side Story. And I was Maria, surviving to carry on the memory of a short, forbidden love."

"Oh," She yelped, "It's another, I can't-" Sarge squeezed her hand and commanded her to breathe. Finally she exhaled loudly and slumped back, staring up at him blankly.

"Now you listen to me, Missy." He said, solemnly, "I decided to live with that. I coulda lived with that. It was beautiful and wistful and sad, like the end of a Pixar movie." Still holding her hand, he used his free arm to help her remove some of her armor plates to make her more comfortable. "But _then_ I learned that my entire military career was based on the tallest mountain of lies in the continent of deceit; that I was nothin' more- _we_ were nothin' more- than living toy soldiers for the sick games of backstabbing dirtbags."

"Really?"

"Yup. It drove me crazy. Ask anyone." He leaned his head back and called out, "Grif?"

"You've always been crazy!"

Her hand clamped around his like a vise, and she let out a groan that turned into a shout halfway through. She remembered to breathe on her own this time. Finally she sucked in a deep breath that came out as a ragged sigh and lay back.

He brushed hair out of her red face with his hand. "But what drove me craziest, even if I couldn't admit it, was realizing you had died for nothin'. Your death wasn't a glorious victory for the Red way of life. You'd died for target practice. My own robotic creation had snuffed you to win a fake battle for a war that doesn't exist."

"You were gone. And well," he looked down at their hands. "Miss Kay, it drove me right around the bend." Sister looked at him, her face a mix of exhaustion and confusion. "Because you're beautiful, and infuriating, passionate, reckless, vivacious, and stupidly brave. You are stronger than you think." He said, forcefully, "And, I know you can do this."

Her lips parted, like she was about to speak.

"I don't like the look of things out here!" Washington said from the door.

"Uh oh." Sarge dropped her hand and struggled unsteadily to his feet. Grif was watching the widest door facing the tundra. Washington was on the far smaller door, leaving one unguarded. The shotgun was missing, likely lying in the bloody snow beside the generators. Sarge pulled out his Magnum and staggered over to the barricade closest to the alcove. "What are you seein'?" he asked.

"They've stopped returning fire. There's at least two holed up over by the underpass. One on that rock trying to get an angle on me. And another is just under that ridge to your left."

"Do you know how many there-"

Sarge was interrupted by a cylindrical, barbell shaped, device being pushed over the crest of the hill and rolling gently down the bank. Washington didn't even have time to shout before the flash bang exploded with blinding light and deafening noise, turning the snow bank into a cloud of smoke and snow particles.

"They're making another rush! On both doors!" Washington shouted. "Hold them back! Hold them back!"

Aliens slipped from cover to cover, advancing despite the hail of bullets Sarge and Washington were trying to rain down on them. Grif looked from his barricade across the base to theirs. So far no aliens had braved the wide coverless expanse on his side of the base again.

"Ahhh." Sister's panting had turned onto groaning. "Yeah, guys?" She shouted, "I think...I think- think this is it!"

Sarge looked behind him, and then in front of him, clearly torn in two. He had clipped one alien on the arm, but the attacker had slipped just out of the door's field of fire, trailing dark blood.

"Grif! Go see to your sister!" He barked.

"Me? Why me?" Grif asked.

"Grif, there are two jobs for a man in this base right now. One requires a steady hand, a key eye, and a tactical mind. The other requires you to hold the hand of a screaming woman. Now what job do you think you're gonna be better at?" He paused as the alien dashed toward the doorway, holding a spiky purple handgun at the ready. Sarge managed to hit a thigh this time, but alien armor was thick. And again it dashed out of range. "Get over there!"

Grif went behind the wall where his sister lay. "Uh... hey... uh hey Sis. Oh! Woah! Nope, nope cannot be staring at that."

Washington fired a sniper round that missed the alien hiding out on the rocks by mere inches. "From what I hear, you are literally the last man on earth who hasn't seen that."

"Wait a second. I knew it!" Grif said. "I knew you fucked my sister too!"

"Goddamn it Grif!" Sister shrieked, "Shut the fuuuuuu… oh! Oh! Ow!"

"Um...Um Sis... Shouldn't' you be breathing while you're..."

An alien dashed down the hill and into a blind spot between the two doors. Washington could overhear the clink of grenades being readied.

"Sarge," Washington whispered as loudly as he dared, "I'm going to, ah, give him my gun. I'm going to need you to..."

"Way aheada ya."

Behind the alcove Grif was humming to himself in a panic. "Ummmm. Oh god... Oh god... is all this slime supposed to be coming out too?"

"Sarge!" Washington snapped. He dashed beyond his barricade and out the front door spraying bullets at the alien hugging the base's wall, and then quickly retreating. While its attention was on Washington's attack, Sarge snuck out and dropped him with a Magnum shot to the head that not even advanced alien armor could stop.

"This is terrible!" Grif protested.

"Of course it's terrible!" Sarge shouted to Grif as he reloaded. "It's the miracle of life. Which is the polar opposite of the miracle of death. We come into this world like we're meant to go out, screaming mad and covered in someone else's blood! Nudity optional."

The noises coming from Sister at this point were borderline animal, and Grif was only slightly more coherent. "Um...um I think... I think that's a head. I think...Oh god that's a head and... Oh god I think I'm going to."

Sarge ran to the opposite barricade to make sure no aliens had tried sneaking around to the wider door. "Grif, If you faint, so help me god I am going to-" He thought he saw a black shape slinking by the generators so he fired his Magnum to let the aliens know the base was protected on all sides. He felt practically naked without his shotgun.

Grif's voice was shaking. "Okay, um Sis. Keep pushing."

"Dammit! I am pushing!"

Sister gave a last cry, and Grif gulped. "It's out."

"Grif... Grif..." Sister asked, her voice shaking "Is he crying? Grif..."

There came a squeak that soon turned into a loud indignant squall, filling the base. Sarge, crouched by the barricade, almost dropped his gun in shock.

"What does he look like?" Sister asked, relieved and exhausted.

"Like the prop from a horror movie." Grif sounded queasy. "Does anyone have scissors?"

"What!?" Sarge fumbled with his handgun.

"No wait." Grif said, "found her knife pistol thing... and...Sis hold this." There was the sound of him digging around in a crate. "I have never seen so much slime," he muttered to himself, "and what...what is this gunk?"

"Oh..." Sister sighed, "Do you have anything to clean her up with? Oh, she's beautiful..."

Now, Sarge dropped his gun. It clattered as it hit the floor. "Her? She? You mean to say?"

Finally, Grif came around from the alcove holding a small squirming bundle wrapped in cloth.

Sarge walked over to Grif holding the baby. The orange soldier looked down at it for a second, and then handed it to his leader, "Here."

"Um, yeah... Grif?" Sister called after him.

Sarge looked down into the folds of the cloth, and pulled them away from the baby's face. Grif watched him- a man he had sworn under oath, in writing, on official military documents that he hated more than life itself-fall instantly in love with his sister's baby.

"Grif!" Sister demanded.

"What?" Grif ducked back behind the wall. "And, Oh GOD! Should that be coming out too?!"

Sarge was oblivious to this. He was oblivious to everything, entirely absorbed with the sticky, pink and squeaking thing he was holding. "Oh. Ohhhhh. Hey there, little lady." He touched her puffy face with the finger of his gauntlet, and she stopped fussing long enough for him to get a look at her grey blue infant eyes squinting in dazed confusion. "Well, look at you. Just look at you." He pulled the cloth tighter around her and began dandling her. "All bundled up in...Grif!" he shouted "Why the hell is she wrapped in a blue flag?"

"It was all we had!" Grif explained. "And it has definitely seen better days now."

Washington had pulled away from the barricade. The dead alien seemed, momentarily at least, to have given the remaining attackers pause. He dared to walk over and take a peek at the bundle, relieved and just a little surprised to find the baby was breathing and pink, with ten fingers, ten toes, two eyes, and one nose, one mouth. "Look at it this way Sarge, her first act coming into this world was to take possession of, and then desecrate, the blue flag."

"Ha." Sarge wiped the baby's sticky hair with the cloth. "Guess you have a point there."

A loud explosion echoed outside. Sarge stiffened and clutched his daughter tight. "I've got a bad feeling about that."

Washington ran for a small side door, and crouched at the barricade, peeking outside. "Private Grif."

"What?" Grif ran over to the same barricade and knelt beside the former freelancer.

"I mean _Sister_." Washington sighed, "Is the healing unit still working? Is it still glowing?"

She sounded dazed and exhausted. "Um... a little."

"Roll over by it. It'll help you recover."

"Yeah, okay."

He said under his breath. "Because something tells me we may not have much time."

On the crest of the hill outside the base stood Tucker, Simmons, and Caboose. Behind them, holding an assortment of alien weaponry to their heads, were aliens.

"Hey, um guys?" Tucker shouted to the base, "Guys!" The aliens forced the three soldiers to kneel in front of them.

"Yeah," Simmons said apologetically, "Turns out a wall made entirely of ice really isn't the greatest at keeping out enemies armed with explosives."

Washington tucked his head over the barricade, keeping the muzzle of his battle rifle peaking around the crate's edge. "Caboose, Tucker!"

"When the hell did you show up?" Tucker asked.

Caboose perked up instantly, and the alien had a hard time keeping the blue soldier from leaping to his feet. "You? You! You came back!" His voice was a mix of incredulous joy and relief. "You came back for the party!"

"Wouldn't miss it." Washington said, flatly.

"Goddamn it, Simmons!" Sarge had risked a peek through the door as well. "Did you go surrendering again? You gotta fill out paperwork for that!"

"We had no ammo!"

"You've got two perfectly good fists don't you?"

"Did Sis have her baby yet?" Tucker asked.

"Yup, it's a girl."

Tucker hesitated. "What color is it?"

"Red! Of course. Well...more of a lightish-red."

"Have you fed it yet?" Caboose asked, cautiously, "Because, I think we all can agree, that it's Tucker's turn to feed a baby."

The aliens shoved their hostages farther down into the snow. A blue-armored alien had Tucker pinned and was blarging and honking impatiently while jabbing him in the back with a beam rifle.

"Uh yeah," Tucker said, "Guys, the aliens want to let you know, that you've got five minutes to surrender. Drop your weapons; come out with your hands up. And no tricks."

"Or what?" Washington asked.

The alien with his beam rife replied by pulling the trigger. Tucker gasped and collapsed into the snow.

"Tucker!"

The teal soldier rolled onto his back. "I'm guessing, or that." he rasped painfully.

"Goddamnit! Not again!" Simmons stared trying to crawl to Tucker's side, but was shoved violently back down and held by two aliens.

"Ohh no! He's leaking!" Caboose yelled. "Somebody get a bottle!"

Sarge watched from the barricade. "Well, damn."

"How many are out there?" Grif asked.

"Looks like five." Washington did a visual sweep of the ridge, looking for signs of more hidden.

Grif nervously glanced toward the alcove where Sister was recovering. "So minus Tucker that would be five on five. That's doable, right? Maybe?"

"Maybe." Washington replied. "Or maybe by the time we get to your friends, they're all alien pincushions and we're looking at three on five. Your friends aren't armed. I wouldn't bet on their chances of dodging plasma at point blank range."

"And if we surrender?" Sarge asked.

Washington thought back to his battle with Smith in the snow. "I'm almost certain they will kill us." His eye line trailed down to the bundle in Sarge's arms. "All of us."

"So what are we gonna do?" Grif asked.

Red Leader and Interim Blue Leader glanced at the ATV sitting parked in the base, and at each other. Washington nodded. Then, Sarge looked down at the newborn he was holding.

"Grif, I've got a very special mission for you!" He said.

"Me?"

"Get on the vehicle."

Grif looked from the motorcycle to the door closest to the aliens. "But."

"Get on the vehicle." His leader repeated, firmly.

Sarge rounded the alcove and crouched next to Sister. The healing unit was sputtering a faint glow of green particles, but the new mother still seemed dazed and exhausted. He handed her the baby, and then started reattaching the amour plates to her body suit. "How you feelin' Missy?"

"What's going on?" She asked. The bundle squeaked, and she held it tighter against her chest. He slipped her boots back on and grabbed her helmet.

He slid one arm under her knees and the other behind her back and lifted his family in his arms. "You're going to go on a little trip." Sarge grunted as he walked over to the ATV.

"Two minutes." Washington said from the barricade.

Sarge slid Sister right behind Grif on the seat. "And here ya go." He pulled the blue flag over Sister's shoulder and around her chest. "And, we'll just tie her in here real cozy." He fastened the makeshift baby sling securely to the armor. "There." Sister was staring at him blankly.

Grif turned to look behind himself. "Um...Sarge?"

"Grif. If there is one thing I actually have confidence in your ability to do, it's this."

"Driving?"

"No! Running away. We'll attack, while you slip out the back door. Get as far away as you can, as fast as you can." Sarge rolled the ATV to the wide side door and Washington pushed the barricade to the side.

Sister's grabbed his arm, "No. I can't do this."

"What did I tell you about that earlier? Just hang on tight now."

She gripped him tighter. " _Please_. Don't. Not again. You said you wouldn't leave."

"Yup, until you're safe or I'm dead." He reached down to check the baby was secure one last time. "Well you're _not_ safe, and _I'm_ not leaving. You are."

"But you'll be okay, right?"

Grif turned to look behind himself, and wished that he hadn't. Sister still didn't have her helmet on, so he could see the look on her face.

Sarge fished in his belt pouch. "Here, I didn't give you this before. I meant to." He pressed something into her hand. "You hang on to this, Goldie."

She looked down. It was a crude brass ring, made from a shotgun shell casing.

"Thirty seconds." Washington said.

Sister looked back up at Sarge, her eyes were wide in fear and panic, her lips parted, but she couldn't say anything. Suddenly, Sarge wrenched off his helmet. As it fell clattering to the floor, he grabbed Sister's shoulders and kissed her, hard, passionate, and desperate. Grif turned to face straight ahead, knowing that the image was seared into his brain forever. Sarge pulled away, and with both hands he firmly placed Sister's helmet on her head, then reached down to fetch his own.

"As soon as we go, you tear out of here." Sarge growled to Grif. "As fast as you can."

"Yes, sir."

He ran over to the barricade, and crouched next to Washington. "Let's beat 'em to the punch."

Washington handed him a loaded battle rifle.

"You know, Wash," Sarge said, "You might be a dirty Freelancer Blue who shot half my men. But you're not a bad fella to go out fighting beside, all things considered."

"Thanks." Washington replied, and he meant it.

"Three and then go?"

Washington nodded. "One, two, three..."

"Go!" Sarge and Washington broke cover from the door and started their sprint uphill. The Aliens had been expecting something of the kind, and were more than prepared to mow down the two attacking soldiers in short order. What they hadn't been expecting was a spaceship to fall from the sky directly behind them, landing with enough force to throw all combatants to the ground.

"Blarg!" One of the aliens shouted.

"He said, 'again?'" Tucker wheezed. The red patch of snow he was lying in was still getting larger.

The gangplank from the spaceship hissed, and slowly lowered to ground, as the hatch opened.


	17. Deuce Ex Machina

Down the gangplank walked two aliens, one was armored in green and blue, and the other, who stood about a foot shorter than his companion, was armored in teal. When the larger alien saw the surviving attackers begin to stir from their shock, he shouted at them and pulled dual plasma pistols. They froze, staring at the new arrivals.

The smaller alien ignored all of this. Instead, he ran to Tucker's side and knelt in the bloody snow beside him.

"Heya there, Junior." Tucker wheezed. "Told you I wouldn't miss seeing you for another month."

Simmons jumped to his feet, and grabbed a gun dropped in the confusion. He pointed it at the group of aliens. Sarge joined his teammate at the crest of the hill, holding his battle rifle. But Washington turned on his heels and dashed back into the base.

Sarge barked at the aliens. "As a dearly departed private of mine would say, 'Kneel down and put em up!" As they complied, he kicked their guns away. At the sound of a motor he looked up. Grif and Sister on the ATV were coming around the side of Blue Base.

"Um, I'm assuming the running away and hiding thing got cancelled." Grif hopped off the vehicle and ran over to Simmons and Sarge. The jostling and cold and strange sounds and sensations had the baby crying in the sling. Sister crossed her arms over her chest to hold it closer, but she stayed where she was on the Mongoose, watching as Junior tried to help Tucker sit up.

"So, decided to come after all?" Tucker gasped at the green and blue armored alien. It blarged, and gestured to Junior, who was trying to put pressure on the exit wound. "Yeah, I didn't think it was your idea, asshonk. But thanks anyway."

Washington emerged from the base, and ran up the slope to Tucker's side, carrying York's old healing unit. He set it up. But no matter how he tweaked or positioned it, the crystal wouldn't glow. "No, come on," he said. "Don't quit now. Just one more, come on."

"Here, let me help!" Simmons pulled his standard issue medkit out of it's compartment and crouched next to Tucker.

Washington snatched it out of the Red soldier's hands and jabbed his thumb at the healing unit. "See what you can do with it." He cracked the kit open, grabbing at the gauzy bandages soaked in coagulant and stuffing them into both the entry and larger exit wound.

Junior was gripping Tucker's hand, and his black shining eyes were full of concern.

Tucker's voice was weak. "Boy, little dude, you're not so little anymore, huh? You're all grown up. Damn, you grew up so fast. I'm really sorry that I had to miss so much of it."

"I can't- I can't get it to work," Simmons said, but he didn't stop fiddling with the equipment.

"I need another med kit!" Washington turned and caught the one Sarge had pulled from his armor.

Tucker shook his head, and laughed painfully. "Looks like you're ready to be on your own, yeah. But I just I wish I had more time, you know. To tell you stuff."

Junior blarged and honked fervently.

Tucker laughed again, and the laugh sounded distressingly _wet_. "Oh, so you think you remember huh?"

Junior nodded, and started talking quickly in his own language. Tucker listened, nodding approvingly as his son spoke.

"Yup, fuck stocks, you want property… Don't let the man fool you, those records don't get passed around… Most important meal of the day, especially if you have a hangover..." His voice was weaker with every comment. Washington pulled a syringe of stimulant out of Sarge's med pack and jabbed it into an access port on Tucker's arm. " _Nasty_ dudes. That's why you gotta ask for pictures... It's a _scam_. If it's broke in five years just buy another damn one... Heh, like I need to tell you that." He patted the young alien on the helmet. "You're a natural, son. You get that from me."

"Okay little guy..." Tucker was weakly coughing, swallowing his own blood. "I think I gotta go now. But you remember the most important thing I told you, right?"

Junior threw his arms around Tucker's neck and said in a hollow approximation of English. "Aaaahhh Luuuuve yoooou."

"Yup," Tucker whispered, "And I honk blarg you too, blarg herk blaaaarg..." His voice died away in a bubbling sigh.

"What!? " Washington looked up from the wound. "No come on! Tucker, stay with us now!" He scrambled in the snow, among the open remains of several cannibalized medkits. "I just need another stim."

Simmons stood up and backed away. "Wash... I think..."

Junior reached into the med kit slot in Tucker's armor, and pulled out a blood stained card. He looked at it for a second, and then passed it to his uncle. Washington pressed his fingers against Tucker's neck, but there was no pulse. His body was limp. He hadn't gone into lockdown. The former freelancer stood up shakily, looking from Sister and the baby, to Simmons, to Sarge and Grif.

"He's gone," Washington said. "Guys, I am so sorry."

"Meh." Grif shrugged. "He wasn't on _our_ team."

"Grif!" Simmons said, sharply.

Washington turned around and Caboose was standing behind him, looking at the corpse of Tucker. He was uncharacteristically silent. He couldn't have articulated what he was feeling, even if someone had jumped into his mind. On the one hand, Tucker had been shot. On the other hand, the last of his original teammates had just leaked away in the snow.

"Funerals, are sad," he said, finally deciding. "Especially when we should be having a birthday party instead."

"Caboose... I am... I..." Washington stopped. Even the smallest Caboose-sized words couldn't explain his remorse.

"It's okay Agent Washington." Caboose said, sadly. "It's not your fault."

" _This_ time," Grif muttered. Simmons nudged him, hard.

"But if I'd gotten back earlier, if I hadn't left at-"

"We all make mistakes, and our teammates die." Caboose walked over to Washington's side and gave him a hearty clap on the back. "That's what makes us The Blue Team." The new Blue leader stared at him.

In the meantime, Junior and his uncle were having an animated conversation. Junior was pointing to Tucker's body insistently, almost hysterically, at one point even collapsing on it and hugging the corpse. The other alien looked from Tucker and Junior to the stained Father's Day card in his hand. Finally the alien grumbled and lifted Tucker's body and carried it into the ship. Junior watched him go. From the snow he grabbed the handle of his father's sword. Then he turned and marched over to the kneeling alien captives. The teal armored young alien held it in front of him and the blade crackled to life in his hand. He glared at the surrendered rebels, who shrunk from the sight.

Junior began to speak.

"Renegades! Warmongers! Bloodthirsty beasts, all of you! Have you heard of me? There are some among our people who consider me a chosen one, a savior. The fulfillment of the great prophecy our ancestors set down ages and ages ago. Most believed the prophecy would bring about great doom, but others read the word as destiny."

"I was born of a virgin, an alien- yes even a shizno- in a strange foreign land, surrounded by our enemies. And the human whom you killed... was my mother."

The kneeling aliens glanced from one to another in fear.

"A great destiny fated him to be my incubator, but he _chose_ to be my mother. He could have abandoned me, but he cared for me, fought for me, sought me out when I was lost, and taught me his human ways. His human wisdom."

"And you," Junior pointed the sword at them accusingly. "Have taken the life of the man who did all this for me out of love. You killed him, as if in doing so you could alter one second of the past. By your thinking, I should take my revenge by killing all of you." Junior dropped the sword to his side. "But revenge isn't real. It is a phantom, because it destroys to pay for something already lost."

Now the aliens looked uncertain, confused. Junior took a step toward them, his arms open. "In my time with my own kind, I have learned of our proud warrior heritage, our years of oppression, and of the faith and hope of millions corrupted by false prophets. I know that I am young, there is much of the galaxy I have yet to experience. But I know that in my blood is the blood of great warriors, and that my hands have the power to relight a true faith. A great doom, a great destiny, a great hope for all our people." Raising the sword high above his head, pointing at the sky, he commanded them. "So lay down your weapons. Surrender to me. And you will pay for your crime by building up something more tangible and lasting than death."

After a moment, the aliens rose to their feet. And then one by one, they bowed down low again, this time in reverence instead of fear.

"Uhhh... what did he just say?" Grif asked.

Simmons was staring blankly at the aliens paying homage. "What are you asking me for?"

"He said, blarg blarg honk, honk blarg honk honk bl-"

"Shut up, Caboose!"

From within the ship, a grating voice called out. "Yeah! What's the good of bringing a translator, if you don't let him do any translatin'!?"

"What?" Sarge asked, "Who said that?"

"Wait, I know that voice!" Caboose said. "Andy?"

"That's right, dickheads!" The voice from the ship shouted. "And I'm tellin you right now, if I knew all you chumps were gonna be here, I wouldn't have agreed to come. Some friends you all turned out to be! Leavin me rottin' in a crashed ship, to be manhandled by retarded jarhead recovery agents, palmed around the military like some kind of-"

There was a 'thwack" from inside the ship and a charcoal black sphere sailed through the doorway and landed with a thud in the snow.

"That's it!" Andy snapped. "Who did that? You're going to get my diplomatic immunity right up your-"

Tucker staggered down the boarding ramp, shaking his stubbed toe. "Ugh, who let this asshole on board?"

"Tucker?!"

"Uhh, what happened?" The blue soldier swayed slightly.

"Tucker! You're back! Tucker's back!" Caboose said, excitedly, then he paused, and slumped. "Oh. Tucker's back." He grumbled.

Junior dropped all pretense of grandeur and practically tackled his parent in an enthusiastic hug. "Ooph!" Tucker patted his son's head. "Didn't know that I went anywhere."

"You died!" Washington said. "Like...three minutes ago."

Caboose nodded. "And on the third minute, you rose again."

"Oh man, really? Dammit, seriously?" Tucker turned to see Junior's uncle staggering out of the ship. "Did you rez me?"

The alien steadied himself and grumbled a reply.

"Yeah, I didn't think it was your idea," Tucker snapped, then added without sarcasm, "But thanks anyway." He clasped Junior to him.

"How did he even...?" Simmons began.

"Uh, yeah, duh." Tucker said. "These aliens don't treat life and death the same way we do."

"Meaning what exactly?"

"Meaning," Andy said, "You get a do over."

"A do over?" Grif asked.

"Yeah, they can revive a dead guy." Andy explained, "But it's not like a freaking driving test. You only get one do over. So, the next time Tucker dies, that's it! Sayonara, bitch!"

Hearing this, Caboose lowered the rifle he had been aiming at Tucker's back. Then, upon a moment's reflection, the gun slowly began creeping upward again. Washington put his hand on the barrel and gently pushed it down.

"Ugh, so that was my death huh?" He snorted in disgust. "Used it on that? Fucking weak. I can't believe I used my one resurrection on one bullet to the back. I was saving it up for something special, like-"

Washington was surveying the carnage of the battlefield. "So these aliens can all be revived?"

"Um, some of them, probably." Tucker shrugged "If they haven't died once already."

"But it takes a lot out of the guy doing it." Andy said, "Like years off their life."

Junior bobbed his head and spoke.

"Yeah," Andy translated, "He says, 'so they usually only do it for family'."

Junior, obviously happy, looked from his uncle to his parent, both slumped in resignation. "Great," Tucker said, "This feels like the beginning of a lifelong guilt trip."

Sarge walked over to where Sister was still sitting dazed and confused on the Mongoose. He gave her a hand as she climbed off of it. With her other hand Sister cupped the newborn to her chest.

Sarge put an arm around her shoulder. "Whelp," he said, "As the great General William Shakespeare once said, 'all's well that ends with minimal casualties'. Right, missy?"

Sister looked up at him, and over at Grif, then down at her new baby, then to the cluster of surrendered aliens, then over to where Tucker was joking with Junior while standing ankle deep in a pinkish slush made from his own blood. Finally she pressed her hand against Sarge's chestplate, as if reassuring herself that he was still alive.

"Missy?" Sarge asked.

She suddenly burst into hysterical sobbing. Everyone stopped whatever they were doing, or saying, and turned as one to stare. She kept crying, trembling, and her crying started the baby crying too.

"Sis?" Grif jogged over alarmed.

She just shook her head, blubbering incoherently, the tantalizing bits and pieces of squeaked out words completely incomprehensible between sobs.

"Miss, what's going on? Everything's fine now."

Sister nodded, and cried louder. Sarge gripped her shoulders.

"Every. Thing. Is. Fine." Sarge said, slowly.

Sister nodded, still hysterical.

"Do. You. Understand. Me?"

Sister nodded again, but didn't stop.

"Do. You. Want. To. Go. In. Side?" Sarge asked.

Sister nodded, and Sarge put his arm around the weeping girl's shoulders and led her back to the base.

"Damn," Andy said, "And I thought that I was emotional."

Caboose crouched next to the bomb. "Sooo, Andy! How've you been?"

"How've I been?" He repeated, shrilly. "How've I been? Well, actually, since the kid recruited me, I've been pretty good. Seeing the galaxy, meeting all kinds of gross new aliens, right in the epicenter of plenty of extremely explosive situations. Only problem is that Mr. Alien Messiah Smoothtalker keeps defusing them."

"Oh, well, that's disappointing."

"You're telling me! Still, at least he appreciates my work. He's always asking me for stories. What was my dad like? How did my parents meet? Was it love at first sight? Whats the shizno word for blarg blarg honk?"

"Andy!"Caboose said. "Language..."

"And did you see our ride? We travel in style! I'm a diplomatic attaché. All official! You know what the hourly rates for UNSC translators are?"

"Dino-matic attack what?"

"Cuz, I can guarantee It's better than you're getting! I have dental."

"You don't have teeth," Caboose said.

"Doesn't matter. The question is, do _you_ have dental?"

"No."

"Exactly. Benefits man, it's all about the benefits. A couple more years of this, building up my C-4-01K, and I'll be able retire with a pretty big bang."

Junior walked over to Andy and crouched to pick him up. "Honk blarg blarg, blarg honk," he said.

"See?" Andy said to Caboose. "Needed. Appreciated."

Junior hugged the bomb close to his chest and jogged over to where his father, his uncle, and Washington were standing.

"Alright sir!" Andy said enthusiastically, "What do you and your mom need?"

"Don't translate it that way!" Tucker snapped. "How many times do I have to-"

Washington interrupted. "I've filled him in on our situation," he gestured to Junior's uncle, "Now I need you to tell me what he's saying."

Grif and Simmons had unconsciously filed 'Planning for the Future by Communicating with Aliens' under 'Blue Team Problems' and instead stood off to one side discussing more pressing Red Team issues.

"And then, if that wasn't gross enough! A few minutes after the baby came out, this horrible slimy..."

Simmons shuddered. "Grif! I don't want to hear about this!"

"Look, man. I gotta tell someone, preferably as soon as possible. Because the sooner I pass along the horror, the sooner I can forget it myself. I told you about the blood right? There wasn't as much as I thought there would be, instead there was this clear..."

"Grif, do you want me to faint?"

"Yeah, kinda," Grif said. "I'm actually pretty surprised you didn't faint when Tucker was bleeding out."

Simmons looked beyond Grif, toward Blue base. "Looks like Sarge brought the baby back outside with him."

Turning around, Grif watched as Sarge joined Washington, Tucker and the aliens. He was holding the tightly wrapped bundle of Blue flags close to his chest. Grif sighed. "Great. nothing like adrenaline, mortal peril, and childbirth to cement a relationship. And I was so close."

"You are not still hung up on that? Are you?"

"Well fat lot of help you were!" Grif snapped. "What did you tell Sarge, anyway?

Simmons was suddenly evasive. "Ummm, what? What do you mean?"

"Before the aliens, you went to set things right. Didja tell Sarge all about trying to trick him?"

"Yeah," Simmons shook his head. "But it didn't work. He was still convinced I was in love with your Sister, and she would be happier with me."

"Both true statements," Grif said

Simmons growled. "Grif..."

"So what did you tell him?" Grif asked.

"Look, I don't really want to-"

"What did you tell him?" Grif asked again.

Simmons sighed. "I told him that I'm robosexual."

"What?"

"I was out of ideas!"

Grif was staring at him. "You're robosexual?"

"What? No!"

"Because...you know... your closest relationship is with your laptop... and you do get super possessive of all your gadgets and-"

"Grif, I am not robosexual!" Simmons said, "At least, um, just because one is a well-read science fiction aficionado with an appreciation for fine engineering and Issac Asimov's..."

Grif interrupted. "And Sarge believed you?"

"Believed me?" Simmons scoffed. "He told me he's often wrestled with dividing passion for robotics from robotic passion himself. He sympathized!"

"I'm sure you loved that."

"Yeah, the only downside is he said I have to get bereavement counseling for Lopez."

Sarge shouted over to them. "Grif and Simmons! On the double!"

"Oh, what now?" Grif said as they jogged to join their CO.

"Where's Sister?" Simmons asked.

"Sleeping like a rock. Just like this one." Sarge held up the baby.

"The baby is a rock?" Caboose asked.

Simmons nodded. "I guess having a baby takes a lot out of you."

"Yup." Sarge weighed the infant in his arms. "Five and a half pounds at least. Give or take blood, mucus..."

Simmons swayed slightly. "Stop!"

"So here's the deal," Andy said. "He said can take you guys anywhere you want to go."

"Hmmm," Caboose considered. "Disney World."

"So, what're you guys thinking?" Washington asked the group. "You can go anywhere. Earth? A colony?"

"Vegas Quadrant," Tucker suggested.

"Forget it!" Simmons vetoed.

"Home?" Grif asked.

"You mean Vancouver?" Caboose asked.

Simmons glanced at the Blue. "You mean Vahalla?"

"Yeah, they'll take us back to base!" Sarge said enthusiastically.

Washington stared directly at Simmons. "If that's where you want to go." he said.

Simmons considered for a moment. "Are we still getting paid?" he asked, finally.

"Um, yeah," he nodded, "You're all still officially enlisted, on a special ops pay scale even. Housing, Supplies, Recreation funds, retirement packages, health insurance, danger pay."

"Benefits," Andy said, appreciatively.

Simmons thought some more. "And so if we go back to base, and play a little capture the flag?"

"You'll keep getting paid." Washington confirmed.

"Grif?" Simmons glanced at his teammate.

Grif shrugged and yawned, "Eh, it's a living."

"So we're all in agreement!" Sarge said.

"What about Sister?" Simmons asked.

"She's dead." Washington said.

Sarge shrugged."Ah well- Wait, what?"

"She's been dead for years."

Sarge cocked his head. "So, she's a zombie."

"Zombie plan!" Simmons cried, lifting his rifle.

Grif grabbed the gun. "Put that down."

"No," Washington said, "What I mean is the UNSC has Private Kaikiana Grif listed as MIA/KIA. She was reported missing and presumed dead years ago when her transport ship to Blood Gulch never confirmed arrival, or returned."

"Really?" Grif asked.

"Yes. None of you thought it was suspicious when Blood Gulch was decommissioned that she was the only one without relocation orders? They didn't even know she was there."

"Ah, perfect!" Sarge cried.

"Perfect what?" Grif asked, "What's perfect?"

"This saves us so much time in having to fake her death later. Simulated military combat it no place for a lady."

"What about Tex?" Simmons asked.

"I said a lady." Sarge looked down at his daughter. Junior walked over to get a peek at the baby, which was not a rock, and Grif and Simmons watched as the old soldier enthusiastically showed her off.

"What about you?" Tucker asked Washington.

"What about me?"

"Well, we broke you little hologram recorder."

"Shelia," Caboose said.

"Right," Tucker nodded. "So if you've got any more half-assed goodbye speeches, you might as well just save time and tell us now."

"You're leaving?" Caboose asked, crestfallen.

Washington looked from the two Blue team members, to Red Team and Junior clustered around the newborn. "No, Caboose, I don't think I am. Someone has to keep an eye on you guys. That is, if you still want me around."

Caboose stared at Tucker, begging without saying a word."Okay fine," Tucker sighed. "But, for future reference, do you have any other deadly enemies from your past that might be out there alive and carrying a grudge?"

"You want me to list chronologically or alphabetically?" Washington said, wryly.

"Clever callback."

"You don't think it was a little too forced?"

"No, but I think you're starting to fit in a little too well."

Caboose jumped between them. "And I will make a list of all the awesome stuff we can do together. We can ride in cars, make hats, and find clues, and go camping, and watch sunsets, and draw pictures, and fly airplanes, and count sandwiches..."

Tucker backed away, as Caboose continued his list. "Right, this could go on for maybe forever, so I'm gonna go catch up with Junior."

"...and hug robots and get a dog! Right, Church?" Caboose stiffened in fear, "Oh...um...I mean..."

"It's okay, Caboose." Washington said. "You can call me Church, if you want to. I don't mind."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Tucker, did you hear that!? He said I can call him Church. He said he's one of us!"

"Caboose, that's not wh-"

"One. Of. Us!" Caboose shouted to Tucker. "One of Us!"

Tucker sighed and didn't turn around."Gooba gabba," he muttered, which is alien for 'big deal.'


	18. Cold Feet

When she woke the first thing Sister heard was the mewling sound of a half-sleeping baby fussing. The second thing she heard was snoring. She rolled over to see Sarge sitting with his back to the wall next to her, his helmet tipped back, sound asleep, with the swaddled baby in the crook of his arm.

She watched them for a long time, until a sneeze from the baby jerked Sarge awake. "Whoops, what now!" He noticed Sister looking at him. "Oh, musta dozed off." He yawned. "Ugh, I hope your defective Grif genes aren't rubbing off on me."

Sister didn't reply, so Sarge quickly backtracked. "Um, that is to say, any biologist will tell you that fifty percent of your genes are recessive. So obviously any of the defective Grif DNA you may have is masked by the undoubtedly superior dominant DNA of your other ancestors. Still," he glanced down at their daughter. "Maybe we outta have you and the baby tested. Make sure there isn't some kind of dormant Grifitis you're carrying that's treatable if caught early."

Sister slowly pulled herself into a sitting position. "How long was I asleep?"

"A few hours." Sarge dandled the baby who whimpered irritably. "I think, uh, I think the little lady is starting to get a little peckish. And, while I'd like to think of myself as a fairly progressive fellow, I pretty sure you're going to have to handle that department."

"What?"

"Lets just say she was trying to draw from a dry well... covered in three inches of armor plating." Sarge handled her the bundle and Sister pulled the swaddling away to examine her baby for the first time without a firefight in the background. The skinny infant blearily looked around, pulling her arms and legs in to her chest, as if she hadn't gotten used to all the extra room yet.

"You made a diaper?"

"Yup! Outta the blue flag! Caboose found a whole bunch of em. She'll be shittin' on blue for weeks! That's starting em right."

Sister gently nudged the baby's cheek, as if she was testing to make sure it was real and solid. The baby turned into the finger, mouthing the air.

"We're gonna be outta here in a day or so," Sarge said. "Gotta wait for a ship to come pick up our erstwhile enemies." He looked around, and then scooted closer.

"Uh, listen. Tucker's alien kid out there, turns out he's an official diplomat and some kind of supernatural religious savior. So, I know it's not what you ladies want, what with the white dress and white church and fancy white table cloth reception, but he said that before we all hop ship outta here that he could use that power vested in him by the UNSC and whatever wacky religious cult he's leading, and get us properly hitched. Make it all official."

Sister looked from Sarge to the baby and back to Sarge again.

"So, whadda ya say?"

She wrapped the baby back up tightly. "No."

"Great! I already got it scheduled for– Wait. What?"

"I said...I said...no." Sister said, haltingly. "I-I can't, I mean...I won't marry you."

Sarge was frozen in shock. "What?"

"I'm not marrying you," She repeated, nervous and panicked without knowing why.

"Now, Kay," Sarge said, "Your little body has just gone through quite the ordeal. You just had a baby! So, your lady equipment is no doubt sending all kinds of hormone-driven women's madness to your delicate female brain. It's common and horrible, and that's why they call it the baby _blues_. But if you can just work through your haze of hysteria-"

"Listen," Sister interrupted, "I'm not marrying you! Okay?"

"What? After all the shooting and the shouting and the fighting and the kissing? Not to mention everything that happened _this_ week? Why the hell not?"

"What does it matter?"

"What does it matter?" Sarge stood up, sputtering in confusion. "I...we...I wanna know! I have a right to know! As the father of that baby I have a _right_ to know!"

"I-I-I said I'm not marrying you!" Sister stammered. "Because, because...uh...you're mean, and stupid, and you always tell me what to do! And you're old. And you're only marrying me because you think you have to."

"That's not true!" He said; then paused and added, "That last one, at least, is not true."

"Well, I don't need you taking care of me!" She said, "And I don't want you around! So just leave already! You're old and I hate you! I'm telling you to go! So go!" She reached into her belt, "Here's your stupid shitty ring, and your stupid shitty child support card," she threw them at him and pointed to the door. "Now get the fuck out!"

Sarge stared at her, still and silent, and for a terrifying second Sister thought he might explode back at her. Instead he crouched down and picked the ring off the floor. "Well, fine," he snapped, and marched from Blue Base.

Grif was just unlucky enough to be standing right outside with Simmons and Tucker. "What's going on?" he asked.

"How's about my fist on your throat!" Sarge growled, and made good on his threat, punching Grif firmly beneath the chin. Grif dropped limply into the snow, wheezing and grabbing limply at his neck. "You lazy blubber-bellied turd-bucket!"

Tucker watched as Grif drifted, possum like, into a protective semi-unconsciousness. "What the hell?"

Sarge whirled on him "Well, Tucker, I hate to say it, but it turns out you were right. About _everything_." He stamped off, fuming.

"I wonder what that was about?" Simmons asked.

"I don't know, but it was pretty awesome!" Tucker said, "I've been waiting my whole life to have someone say that to me. If Sarge was a hot chick, then things would be perfect."

Simmons nodded, "Yeah, I know what you mean."

Simmons' tone of voice made Tucker double take, "Um. What did you say?"

"I said I know what you mean."

"No." Tucker stared at him, "No, I don't think you do."

Simmons coughed. "I'm gonna go," he squeaked and dashed off.

"That guy has issues," Tucker said to himself.

There was a yelp from inside Blue Base. "Owch! You little bastard! You're supposed to suck on it, not bite it. Everyone knows that!"

"And that's my cue!" Tucker turned to the door.

X X X

To top everything off, Sarge still couldn't find his shotgun. He dug through the snow all around the generators where he had dropped it, but it was nowhere to be seen. Losing his favorite gun and his only ever fiancée all on the same day would have been more than enough to set him on edge, even if they hadn't happened on a day when, once again, the opportunity to go out guns blazing had been dangled in front of him, only for the battle to fizzle out into peace talks. Now the only way he could express his frustration was by smacking hell out of the Mongoose ATV with his borrowed rifle.

He hadn't been expecting company.

"What are you doing?" Caboose asked. "Fixing cars? That is my favorite. Can I help?"

Sarge didn't turn away from the vehicle, which was now smoking slightly. "Son, let me give you a bit of advice," he growled. "Never get tangled up with women."

"Oh...don't worry. I've already done that."

"They're a riddle, wrapped in a mystery." Sarge started pacing through the snow. "Dipped in confusion and tucked in a bear trap. All doe eyes, soft skin, musical laughter and madness. Then they'll sucker punch you to the gut and lay you flat on your back and all without laying a finger on ya."

"Yeah, Gruff's sister is really good as wrestling. She pinned me every time."

"So forget em!" Sarge punched the ATV. "And reproduce as the good Lord intended: asexual cloning! After all, if it's good enough for trees and tapeworms..."

"It was like playing Twister, only I wasn't playing by myself. And every spot was blue spot."

"And marriage, don't even get me started on marriage. Tying yourself to one woman. Trying to keep her happy and protected. Why you might as well try to hitch up with a hurricane." Sarge wagged a finger right under Caboose's visor. "Stay away from it, son!"

"Yeah, my dad told me something like that once, a long time ago. He said that I shouldn't marry cows, because I could buy free milk. But then my mom told me that I shouldn't take candy from strangers. And no one ever introduced me to the lady at the grocery store, and that's why I can't ever have chocolate milk again."

Finally something Caboose said sank in. "He said you shouldn't marry cows?" Sarge asked.

"I think so. Unless things may have gotten a little mixed up, maybe. Except, I've had a long time to think about it, and I think my dad was wrong. He wouldn't make a very good farmer. He thought that it was silly to marry cows, when you could just marry the stranger at the grocery store and get your milk there. But really, if you think about it, cows are nice. They're just nice to have around. Like big furry dogs that eat grass. So I think that if you get the chance, you should probably buy a cow. Because, if it's your cow, it won't be a stranger. So you can have chocolate again, and you don't have to drink white milk from the grocery store people you don't really know."

Sarge stared at his boots. "Yeah, well my little heiferette got cold feet and jumped the fence. After giving me a good goring right to the heart. So I guess I'm just gonna have to leave my money on the counter and learn to be lactose intolerant, plow my fields by hand, eat my cereal dry, order my almond milk online, and sneak through the barb wire at night to strangle the coyotes prowling round while the calves are sleeping."

Caboose cocked his head. "Uh...What are you talking about?"

"Awww...forget about it." Sarge shuffled off toward the cliffs.

Grif crept from the underpass, and walked over to Caboose. "What was that all about?"

"Oh... Sergeant is mad because his cow ran away, and now he can't get free milk."

"Oh," Grif nodded. But then quickly turned, "What? Wait? Are-are you calling my sister a cow?"

"Your sister? No. I just told Sergeant that she was very good getting tangled up with everyone at Blue Base."

"Caboose," Grif sounded more confused than angry. "Are you calling my sister a slut?"

"No, I am saying that she was a very good player, at sports, like twister."

Grif couldn't say anything.

"Do you know you can play that in the dark?" Caboose asked.

Grif slowly began backing away.

"And without a mat," Caboose added.

"Ummm...I'm gonna go," Grif said as he inched away. "I'm gonna go find my sister now. "

X X X

Washington was almost getting used to willingly standing next to a massive tactical explosive; but dealing with the bomb swearing at him condescendingly in a shrill voice, was still a challenge. His only consolation was that Junior's uncle seemed just as annoyed, and he was the one who had to work with it all the time.

The green armored alien muttered down to the black sphere between them.

"Oh, get your alien panties out of a wad," Andy snapped back, before translating. "So, he made the call."

"And?" Washington asked.

"And they've got some alien diplomats coming here in a ship to pick up those nutjob asshats and their dead friends. Should be here sometime tomorrow morning. "

"And then you'll take us home?"

Andy laughed, "If by home you mean those lousy bases in the middle of that lousy canyon, where you can dick around pretending to be test subjects so you can collect a cheap military pension, then yeah, we'll take you home."

"You know," Washington said, "At first I wondered why no one had ever talked about you before?"

"Yeah, so, whadda I care?"

"I think I figured it out."

Washington heard a snort behind him, and turned to see Simmons standing there.

"Not really rocket surgery, huh?" Simmons said and laughed.

Washington didn't laugh. "Do you mean rocket science?" he asked, slowly, "Or brain surgery?"

Simmons shook his head. "No, but, it's a joke you see," he laughed nervously, "If those are hard, then combining the two...you see...it's a... it's a joke?"

Washington turned away without comment so he didn't have to watch Simmons scuffing his feet in the snow with embarrassment. He saw on the rise of the hill in front of Blue Base the other aliens all lined up in front of Junior, who was talking to them one at a time.

Washington asked, "What are they doing?"

"Uhh...getting guidance," Andy scoffed.

"Guidance?"

Junior's Uncle said something, and Washington couldn't tell if what Andy said after was a translation, a paraphrase, or his own words.

"Yeah, pouring out their hearts and souls, telling him all their problems, and getting guidance."

"And he's just...telling them what to do?" Simmons asked.

"Well, _yeah_." Andy said, "I mean, isn't that what being a big religious savior is really about?"

Washington turned to face the alien and the translator. "And they'll do whatever he tells them?"

"Yup. Oh, don't get me wrong. The kid'll give em good advice; about brotherhood and all that peaceful bullshit. He's very charismatic. And they'll just soak it up."

Junior's uncle left them to head to his ship. As he walked away, Andy added in lower tones.

"See, that's the thing with these aliens. Only about one out of a hundred has ever had anything even resembling an original idea. Most of em, they follow along with the crowd, or their leaders, or that crazy-ass religion of theirs. They wanna get told what to do all the time. Between you and me, aliens are really mostly a bunch of drones and morons."

Washington nodded, and then glanced back at the aliens. "Wait, did Simmons just get in line?"

"Yup, and now Caboose."

"But they don't even speak alien!"

"He's _very_ charismatic."

X X X

Tucker was shoved forcibly out the door of the Blue Base and into the snow.

"And stay out!" Grif shouted.

"Aww come on," Tucker whined, "Don't be one of those shamers and haters. It's the 24th century! She has rights! Don't you know? It's completely normal and natural."

"Not the way you were watching! And definitely not when you're taking pictures!"

"Well, can I at least have my camera back?"

"No!"

"What's going on here?" Washington jogged over. The thought of an innocent live baby in the care of unbalanced simulation troopers had him hyper vigilant to anything weird going on around Blue Base.

"My Sister was _trying_ to feed her baby."

"Ah," Washington nodded. "And she wanted a little privacy?"

"She didn't care!" Tucker protested. "She said it was okay!"

"Yeah, well, I say it's not!" Grif said, "Now, beat it!"

Tucker grumbled and slunk off.

When Grif reentered the base, Sister was gingerly pulling her under-suit shirt back down. Beside her the baby was nestled snug in an empty ammo box, like a warzone nativity scene.

"Sis?"

"Oh, hi Grif."

Grif peeked into the alcove across the base, where Sister had given birth earlier. "Wow! What happened to all the blood and slime, and slimy bloody stuff over here?

"Some aliens came in, and took care of it."

"Huh? Well, they did a great job. Almost like they licked the place... clean..." Grif trailed off as the horrible realization dawned.

"Yup."

"Wait...uhhhgh." He gagged.

Sister didn't react and seemed subdued. Or as subdued as anyone could be while experimentally squeezing their own breasts.

"How're you feeling?" Grif asked.

"Do you think its okay to put regular lotion on your nipples?"

"Um...what?"

"Or is there like, a special lotion you're supposed to use?"

Grif crouched next to her. "Sis, can I talk to you?"

"We are talking." She pulled the fabric of the under-suit away from her chest. "Do you have any chap stick?"

"Can I talk to you about something other than your nipples?"

"Uh, okay."

"So, uh, Caboose told me that you and Sarge, you had a fight." Grif paused. "At least, I think that's what he said."

"Yeah, so?"

"So, he said that you won't be getting married after all."

"So? Whadda you care? You didn't want me to anyway."

"Yeah, I know, I was just... curious. Because, well, you know, I was wondering what finally changed your mind."

Sister slumped back, pouting. "I don't know. Does it matter? Why do you people think it matters?"

"Because, I guess it matters! I mean, I gotta live with the grumpy bastard now. And you seemed so excited about it before."

"Well, that was before!" she snapped.

"Before what?" Grif asked, "Because the 'before' I remember was you all bitching and moaning that you didn't know if Sarge loved you. What made you realize you don't want to marry him?"

"I don't know."

Grif hesitated. "Cuz, you don't want to marry him, right?" he asked.

Sister shrugged, looking at her feet. Finally she spoke, tentatively, like she didn't know what was going to come out of her own mouth. "Today, or yesterday or whatever, I thought he was going to die. Like, three times. First, he ran out there and I knew he was gonna get killed. And then that guy brought him back, and I thought he was dead, And then he was gonna run out there again so we could get away, and I realized, well I thought, you'd have to love someone a lot to do something like that."

"And so you realized that you didn't love him back," Grif concluded.

She shook her head. "There was nothing I could do to stop it, ya know? He was gonna get himself killed. For me. Even though I'm just a stupid skank."

Grif rocked back on his heels. "Whoa. Sis."

"What? You think I'm being too hard on myself?"

"No, I just didn't know you were that self-aware."

She sighed. "Yeah."

"Sis, I-"

"Grif, do you remember why Dad borrowed all that money from the Hawaiian Mafia? You remember what he spent it on?"

"Uh, the same stuff he spent all our money on: rent and utilities first, then it was liquor and hustling pool."

"No, I wanted dance lessons. I begged and begged and begged. Don't you remember? But, like, the shoes and the costumes and the classes. It all cost a lot money."

"Sis..."

She cut him off again, "And he borrowed the money. Cuz he wanted to make me happy, you know?"

"You're blaming yourself? You were nine! And I really doubt that your dance lessons cost twelve grand."

"You don't get it!" she said, "He wanted to make me happy! Cuz, he loved me! And he died. You remember that Grif? You remember what it was like, when dad died?"

Grif nodded, slowly. "Yeah, I remember."

"Yeah. So, I'm not gonna marry Sarge."

"Because of Dad? Sis, uh..."

"Go away!" She suddenly snapped at him. "Just go the fuck away and leave me alone!"

Grif stood up. "Well, what about the baby then?"

"I don't know! The gay robot and the doc guy had some kind of plan cooked up. Said once the baby was out, I could go. So go ask them! Or Sarge can have it! Or sell it, or take it to the fire station. I don't care." She turned away, "Just leave me alone!"

X X X

It was getting late in what had been for everyone, a very long day. Still, the aliens stood eagerly to listen to Junior, soaking in his every word. Tucker's son was now standing atop the overpass between the bases, his followers clustered below him. Beside Junior in the snow was Andy.

Simmons led Sarge to the back of the group. Sarge crossed his arms. "Look, I'm as open minded as the next Space Baptist, but I'm not too sure about this."

"I've been listening to him," Simmons said, "And then I even got Andy to translate. He said some stuff that really made me think. I just think maybe you'd find it helpful, okay?"

"Fine," Sarge sighed. "But if they start passing a collection plate, I'm out."

Junior started speaking in rapid blargs and honks. Andy spoke after him in English. As far as they could tell from the lack of crude commentary and snide asides, he seemed to be giving a fairly faithful translation.

"You call humans shiznos. You put them on a level so low you think of your own shit with less disdain. You think because you are so different that they have nothing to teach you."

"But listen to the wisdom of my mother."

"I said not to translate it that way!" Tucker shouted. He was standing listening, too. He never got tired of watching his son be the center of attention.

"Invest in what is real," Junior via Andy continued. "Put your time and effort and resources into things with lasting value."

"Your past is not your fate. The past is permanent, and cannot be changed. But we choose how it drives our future. Forgiveness is just as real as condemnation. If we are trapped by what we've done, often it is a prison of our own making."

"Prepare yourself at the beginning of every day. Life is full of surprises, so it always pays to store up a reserve of fortitude and strength."

"Keep your eyes open while you pursue your desires. What you want can turn into something very different when you get your hands on it. So be wary, the world is confusing, and often things aren't what they seem."

"But never become trapped worrying too much about what could go wrong. If you spend too much energy preparing for the bad things that might happen, you won't have enough left to go out there and do anything great."

"But the truest, deepest love, comes when we recognize the flaws in others. All of us think we want affirmation and unconditional love. Someone to tell us that we're perfect. But petty annoyances and grievances challenge the bonds between us, and strengthen them. We see the worst and the best that another person is capable of and stick with them anyway. Those are the ties that a family is built on. "

"These are the first lessons I learned. Ancient wisdom, practical, and true." Junior pointed to his parent. "And they were passed on to me by that human." Everyone turned to stare at Tucker.

"Hm..." He scratched his helmet. "I don't remember putting it exactly like _that_. But I'll take credit for it anyway!"

"Somehow, I think it's been improved upon translation." A voice behind Tucker said. He turned to see Washington standing there, watching the sermon.

"Yeah, what can I say? The kid's smart."

"Well, I guess he can't get everything from you."

Tucker puffed up with pride. "Yeah I... wait..." Washington's insult sunk in. "Haha, very funny, you dick."

X X X

Grif couldn't remember the last time he had willingly woken up on his own. He blamed the cold. Even with help from Tucker and multiple aliens, Simmons still hadn't been able to get the heat in Red base on. That was the only reason he let himself think of for why he was awake before anyone else. He was lingering by the generators outside Blue Base. He had no excuse for why he was doing that.

"We'll be leaving in an hour or so." Washington had snuck up behind him. Completely silently. Grif would have been startled if he didn't consider it typical bullshit for brooding vigilante types.

"Great. This place sucks worse than home."

"Do you mean Earth, Valhalla or Blood Gulch?"

"Take your pick."

Washington looked the Red soldier up and down. "You are the last person I would expect to be up this early."

Grif shrugged, "Yeah, well, beauty sleep is kind of wasted on me, so, whatever."

Washington nodded, putting one fist up to his mouthpiece while stretching.

"Did you just yawn?" Grif asked

"Yes. And...?"

"I don't know." He shook his head, "It just, kinda seems _weird_. Like if the Terminator sneezed or something."

"It was kind of a rough night, last night." Washington jabbed a thumb toward Blue Base.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Up every two hours. Crying. And then the baby would wake up and start crying too."

"Yeah." Grif sighed.

"She seems pretty heartbroken."

"She told me she's not gonna marry Sarge," Grif explained, "Because he reminds her too much of our dad."

"Oh, well..." Washington said, awkwardly, "Then I guess that probably a good thing, right?"

"Right." But Grif didn't sound firm on this. "And she told me that I can sell the baby to gay firemen over the internet."

"Well, that's also probably for the... wait... _what_?"

From Blue base came the faint sound of sobbing.

"Still, looks like you got what you wanted." Washington gestured to the building.

"Yeah." Grif said, "Yeah I guess I did." He kicked the snow and sighed. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Why not?" Washington said. "I think I'm getting used to it now."

"Which is better, being miserable because everyone around you is miserable, or being miserable because people are happy?"

"They say misery loves company."

"Yeah, well, it sounds like _they're_ a bunch of assholes," Grif said. "No offense meant, you know, because you seem pretty miserable. All the time."

"Yeah, _thanks_." Washington pointed at Grif. "Look, you want my advice, okay, here it is. One, blanket statement that sums up just about everything I've learned so far. Sometimes you that realize you've done some really shitty things. But you can't run away from it; even if you can't make things right. You're got to face up to it and try to make things better."

There now was a chorus of two cries from the base, Sister and the baby, and beneath the crying, something that sounded like Caboose singing off-key some kind of butchered lullaby.

"So Grif, what's better?" Washington asked.

"Arrrgh." Grif kicked at the snow aggressively, and it clanged under his toe. "I hate myself, I hate myself for doing this," he muttered. Then he bent down and picked up Sarge's missing shotgun, and brushed it off. "But I'm going to hate myself even more if I don't do it."

Grif shouldered the weapon and walked down the slope to Blue base.

By the time he got inside, the room was empty except for his crying sister, sitting in the corner.

"Sis."

She stood up and sniffled loudly, like she was trying to suck all her emotions back down inside. "Grif?"

He looked around the empty room. "Who's watching the baby?

"Caboose."

"And who's watching Caboose?"

"Tucker."

"Good." Grif pulled the shotgun off of his shoulder and pointed it at his sister.

"Grif?" Sister took a step back. "What're you doing?"

"What needs to be done," Grif said, grimly, staring down the line of the barrel. "What Dad would have done, to preserve the honor of the family."

"What?"

"Dad's not here, so I'm the man of the family!" Grif said, and cocked the shotgun. "And so I say that you're either going to marry Sarge or taste lead!"

"What? So you're saying I have no choice!?" Sister said. "I'm not deciding?"

"That is exactly what I am saying."

"Oh, thank you!" Sister threw her arms around her brother. "Thanks so much, Dexie! Dad would be so proud."

"Sis, you're welcome." He patted her on the back with the arm not holding a deadly weapon. "And never call me Dexie ever again."

X X X

There were now two alien transport ships parked in front of the bases. Alien officials deferentially allowed Junior to direct the former rebels, and their currently deceased comrades, aboard.

Beside the other transport, two humans were having a heated discussion.

"Sarge," Simmons said, "I really don't think this is a good idea."

"Good idea or not, a baby needs a father." Sarge wagged a finger at his subordinate. "And a momma needs a husband."

Simmons timidly protested. "Sir, don't you think you're taking this old-fashioned values thing a little too-"

"So you get in there and seduce my baby's momma!"

"Sir-" Simmons pleaded.

"I know it might be hard for you at first," Sarge said, "But if you just lay back and think of Rosie the Robot..."

"I don't think that's going to be necessary," Grif said. They both turned to see the orange soldier leading his sister over at gunpoint.

"What's all this!?" Sarge asked, alarmed.

"Oh, I think you know what this is," Grif said coldly.

Simmons looked from soldier to soldier to shotgun and quickly backed away from the situation. He continued backing up until he hit the side of one of the spacecraft, and then slid sideways along the bulkhead until he was out of sight.

"Wait, is that my shotgun?" Sarge pointed.

"Yes it is! Now Sis," He nudged her in the back with the barrel. "Do it. Ask him. Now."

She shuffled forward, head down. "Sarge?" She asked meekly.

"Yes?"

Sister was frozen, out of embarrassment, or maybe fear.

"Sis..." Grif warned.

She took a few timid steps further. "Umm...I..." She stammered and was silent. Then reached a hand out, apologetically. Expectantly.

Sarge looked at her, and then with the final few steps closed the gap between and took her hand. "Yeah, okay." He said.

Sister fell into his arms, sobbing, weak-kneed in relief.

"Hm," Sarge stiffly patted her on the back "I'm guessing this crying thing'll clear up once the hormones settle down."

"I wouldn't count on it," Grif said.

"Forcing a shotgun wedding huh, Grif? And with my own shotgun! I have to say, I'm feeling a strange feeling deep in my gut. I think...I think I'm almost proud of you."

"Great." Grif lowered the gun. "At least one of us is."

"I said almost, dirtbag!" Sarge spat. He slid his arm around Sister's waist, and touched a knuckle to the chin of her helmet.


	19. Old and Blue, Borrowed and New

Sarge insisted that Grif hold the shotgun and point it at either Sarge or Sister at all times during their spaceship ride from the alien bases. The effect of the threat was somewhat diminished, however, when the couple sat knee to knee in their own little world, ignoring everything else, especially Grif with the gun.

The baby was nestled in Sarge's arms, blinking at the light in a sleepy haze. Once the red soldier had snatched the infant, he hadn't put her down for a second. As if he was trying to do as much holding in the next few hours as possible.

Sarge shook his head. "Nope, that's the way it's gotta be."

"You sure?" Sister asked.

"Yup, it's my job to name the sons. Give em strong names to make em stronger. Ya ever heard Johnny Cash's, 'A Boy Named Sue'?"

"Uhh...no?"

"But, picking a girl's name is a girl's job. It takes a delicate touch to find something pretty enough for a sweet little lady like this." Sarge dangled a finger in front of the baby's face. "So what's it gonna be?"

Sister rested her head on his shoulder and reached over to brush the baby's cheek. "Geeze...Um, let me think about it, okay?"

The engines whined and the thrusters changed directions, bringing them into a descent. As the ship slowly settled and powered down, everyone lifted their restraints and grabbed their weapons and gear.

The doors opened. Washington stood up and jabbed a thumb outside. "Okay, here's our stop."

Tucker walked over to the exit, but stopped when he got a glimpse of their location. "Here? What the fuck are we doing _here_?"

Caboose went running down the ramp, arms in the air, dodging boulders and driftwood as he sprinted across the sand. "Booty Island!"

"Say _what_ now?" Sarge exited after him.

"I'd prefer to keep a low profile from here on out," Washington explained. "I mean, I _am_ a dead man impersonating another dead man who was actually a top secret computer program. An alien ambassador dropping us off at our front door might attract a little too much attention from 'Command.' We want to slip in unnoticed; act like we weren't even gone."

Tucker nodded knowingly. "Like kids sneaking in after curfew."

"What's a curfew?" Sister asked.

Grif gestured to the barren island fortress, surrounded by rocks and sand. "But why here?"

"Cuz, I forgot my phone here!" Sister replied.

Simmons stared at her. "Your phone?"

"Yeah, my cell phone."

"We're in space!" Simmons protested. "Your earth-based satellite network couldn't possibly cover deep space! Besides we've all got long range radios hooked up to a military-strength network of extrasolar relay stations. What do you need a cell phone for?"

"Uhh, taking pictures? Doy!" Sister answered. "I mean, what else are you supposed to use a cell phone for?"

"But your helmet also has a- forget it." Simmons stopped. Sister had lost interest and wandered to the fort in search of her missing, obsolete technology.

"Also," Washington felt the need to add, "She said there might be some more baby supplies we didn't pick up the last time we were here."

Sarge surveyed the beach. "Whelp," He repositioned his swaddled daughter upright, resting her head on his shoulder. "I also gotta say, this looks like as good a place as any to get hitched."

"Hitched?" Caboose asked from the ground. He was lying on his back, making sand angels.

"Yup, jump the broom, tie the knot, toss the rice, and get married."

"Wait, a wedding?" Caboose stood up, sand raining down from his armor.

"Sure. Just wish we had a little more time to plan," Sarge sighed sadly. "First a baby shower, then a baby, and now a wedding. Poor Donut, he died just before he finally could've used those articles he'd clipped from Good Housekeeping."

Simmons patted Sarge on the shoulder. "I'm sure that somewhere he's looking up on us and smiling."

X X X

"This one's formula too. He must have bought a whole year's worth." Washington lifted the lid off another crate inside the fortress. Seeing the helpless infant in the arms of Sister and Sarge had filled him with uneasy fear that could only be quieted by amassing a mountain of supplies or calling Child Protective Services.

Sister snorted. "Pish, leave it. Breast is best. I learned that in college."

Washington stopped searching and stared at her. "You went to college?"

"Uhh _yeah_? I passed a whole semester of the hardest massage therapy classes."

"And in which class did you learn... No wait. I just remembered. I don't wanna know."

"Well, I didn't learn that in a _class_. It was in a student film. At least, most of the girls in it were students, I mean the guy filming said-"

"Doooon't want to know. Oh look!" Washington reached behind the crates of formula. "A travel carrier!"

Sarge entered, still carrying their baby. "You find anything useful in here?"

"Carseat," Sister said. She was checking through a tall stack of dog-eared gossipy magazines Lopez had long ago stolen from Donut.

"Electromagnetic travel carrier," Washington corrected. "Designed to latch with 1000 lbs of force onto any metal surface. With Kevlar-woven ergonomic safety restraints."

"Good old Lopez," Sarge said. "Putting safety first."

"Yeah!" Sister squealed, "Yeah, here it is!" She waved a bedazzled pink rectangle in the air. "My phone!"

"Great. You found your phone." Washington gestured to a stack of crates. "And I found baby clothes, _your_ clothes, diapers, bottles, shampoo, lotion, burp rags, bibs, six different kinds of ointment, a swing, a bassinet, and all the immunizations she'll need through the first year." He said sarcastically, "Is there anything else you think you'll need?"

Sister wasn't paying any attention. Instead she was smooshed in next to Sarge and their baby holding the phone out in front of herself taking selfies.

Washington sighed and turned back to the tall stacks of supplies. He noticed something tucked in a dark corner, something humanoid shaped. Pushing aside some boxes, he let the light in to get a better look at it. "What is this?

Sister looked up from her impromptu photo-shoot. "Oh, that's like, Doc and the Spanish guy's robot."

"Lopez built another robot?!" Sarge asked.

Washington brushed some dust off of the robot's visor. It was a slender model, tan with black highlights. "What's it for?"

Sister shrugged "They were building it together. Or it was more like the Doc guy was talking at the gay guy building it, who didn't really seem to be paying attention. They didn't tell me anything."

Sarge jostled Washington aside and reached for an access panel. "Whelp, only one way to find out."

The bot made a whirring noise, chimed, and came online. "Hola. Soy Cecilia la niñera. ¿Donde esta el bebe?"

"What?" Washington asked.

"She said she's a nannybot." Sister translated.

"Estoy programado para…"

"Great!" Sarge said. "That's a load off my chest. Lopez put together someone responsible to raise my little lady."

Washington scrutinized the robot, who was already attempting to peel the infant out of Sarge's arms. "Lopez built it to take care of the baby?"

"Oh yeah, the baby too." Sarge waived Cecilia off, preferring to hold on to his daughter for the time being.

"Whoohoo!" Sister punched a fist in the air, "No dirty diaper duty."

"But you've only changed maybe _one_ since the baby was born," Washington said.

"And one is one too many!"

Washington suddenly pointed deeper into the recesses of the supply crates. "What about that one?"

"What?" Sister followed him into the maze of boxes, Sarge and baby trailing behind her.

"What about this robot?" Washington asked. The motionless automaton was completely grey, polished to a high sheen, and slender like the nannybot.

"I dunno about that one either," Sister answered. "Doc didn't work on it at all, just the Spanish guy. Polishing and painting and fiddling with it forever. Singing to it." She shuddered, "Creeeepy."

Washington tried the same panel he'd seen Sarge access. "Well, it's not turning on."

"Check the switch," Sarge suggested, before nudging the Blue leader aside to check for himself. He crouched down to peer between the legs. "Hmm, no switch. Looks like there's a port down here to insert a hard line in."

"Bow chicka wow wow!"

Everyone turned. Tucker was standing behind them.

"I swear to God," Washington said, "You were not in this room thirty seconds ago."

"And when you turn around, I'll be gone again. Like the mother-fucking Batman."

Sarge ignored Tucker, instead focusing on the robot. "Looks like this one's got no AI installed." He banged on the head which rung hollowly. "It's just an empty shell."

"¡No toques a mi madre!" Cecilia scolded.

"What? Oh yes. Of course! You _should_ start moving all these crates of supplies to the ship." Sarge patted her on the back with his free hand. "Good thinking, Cecilia."

As everyone else wandered out of the fortress, the recently activated robot lovingly grasped the hand of the empty shell. "Algún día mamá, papá volverá."

X X X

Caboose had taken the idea of a tropical island wedding to heart, and luckily for him Junior provided an equally eager mind to actually plan the event. He was busily drawing an aisle by dragging lines through the sand between the makeshift pews of driftwood and rocks they had arranged together. By the 'altar' of ammo crates, on a boulder, Caboose molded a three tiered 'cake' out of sand. Written on the side with a fingertip was "Congrade you Layshuns."

Most of the group was milling around Caboose's handmade sanctuary, while Junior was directing the last few details. But, standing some distance apart, were Sister and Grif.

"Oooh, I'm so nervous." Sister tried to buff out a scratch on her chestplate. "How do I look?"

"You look like a power-armored space-marine of indeterminate gender," Grif answered, flatly.

"What?"

Grif sighed. "I mean you look nice. Really, really nice."

Sister was too excited to detect sarcasm. "Aww, thanks."

Grif took a moment, and reappraised what he saw. "Actually, Sis, it looks like you're all grown up," He said. "Or, as grown up as you're ever going to get."

"Yeah, I can't believe I'm the first of my sorority sister's to get married, and the last one to have a baby!"

Grif patted her on the shoulder. "I think Dad would be proud."

"Really?"

"Really." And he really meant it.

"Yeah." Sister wrung her hands. "But Mom's gonna be super pissed off that she didn't get to be here for this, ya know."

"She's gonna be even madder when she learns her first grandchild is being raised by a robot seven light-years away."

"Hey!" Sister protested, "The robot is just helping!"

"Yeah? Where's the baby now?"

"Uhh... wait." Sister started looking around herself in a panic.

"Don't worry," Grif said. "Robot."

Simmons called to them from the brand new chapel down the beach. "I think we're ready to start."

X X X

They had no ushers, everyone found their place on their own. They had no bridesmaids, so Tucker stood in as Sister's best friend (formerly-with-benefits). They had no instruments, so Caboose sang loudly what he remembered of the Wedding March, which morphed into the Graduation Processional halfway through. Cecilia, the newly activated nannybot, carried the baby down the aisle as a flower-girl, ceremonially dropping bits of slimy seaweed along the way. Since they had no real flowers, Sister carried her handgun as Grif walked her down the aisle. Sister had shoved her phone at Washington and demanded he play photographer. And with Simmons as Sarge's best-man, and Junior and Andy officiating, they had only one guest: Junior's uncle.

Sister took her place facing Sarge at the ammo crate altar. Junior stood before them, holding Andy in his hands.

"Oooh, a beach-front wedding!" Sister gushed. "This is so romantic!"

Grif sighed, "Can we get this over with?"

Sarge cleared his throat, "A-hem. You gotta cock the shotgun before you say it. It's not legally binding unless there's a round in the chamber."

Grif cocked Sarge's shotgun and pointed it at the couple. "Let's get this over with."

Junior began speaking in the bi-syllabic alien tongue; and Andy followed a few seconds after, translating.

"Dearly beloved,"

"And Grif," Sarge added.

"We are gathered together to witness the joining together of this shizno and this other shizno in the bonds of unholy matrimony."

Junior stopped to give the bomb in his hands a disapproving stare. "Okay fine," Andy sighed. "Fine, jeeze, by the book, sheesh."

Junior began again, "If anyone therefore can show just cause why they may not be lawfully joined together let him now speak or else forever hold his peace."

Everybody turned to the orange solider holding the shotgun. But Grif didn't say a word.

"Who gives this woman to be married to this man?" Junior via Andy asked.

There was long pause, while everyone looked expectantly at Grif. It was one thing to remain silent, but it was another to admit approval. Finally Grif sighed. "I do."

"Wow. This is a really old school ceremony," Simmons said.

"Sarge, will you have this woman to be your wedded wife, forsaking all others, to love and comfort, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health as long as you both shall live?"

Sarge gripped both her hands in his. "I do."

"Kaikaina, will you have this man to be your wedded husband, forsaking all others. Will you love and comfort, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health as long as you both shall live?"

"Yeah," Sister said, blissfully.

"And, you _do_ know what forsaking all others means, right?" Andy added.

"Yeah. I do."

"Then Sarge?"

The groom turned to Simmons who handed him the brass ring. Facing Sister, he peeled the gauntlet off her left hand and slipped the ring on her finger. "I take thee, Kaikey-all-ah-ania-ahh...Dammit!" He cleared his throat. " _Kay_. I take you to be my wife. And with this ring, I thee wed."

"Next!" Andy called, and Junior gave him another warning glare.

Tucker nudged her gently in the back. "Uh, Sis, it's your turn."

"But... I... I don't have anything to give him?" She stammered.

"That's it," Caboose muttered. "I knew we should have had a rehearsal!"

"Miss Kay," Sarge said. "It's alright. You've already given me something."

"Nuh uh," Sister protested. "I tested clean for six months."

"I meant the baby."

"Oh." Realization dawned. "Oh, you're so sweet!" She reached for him, to pull him into an embrace.

"Hey!" Andy snapped, "We haven't gotten to that part yet! Sister! Say your line."

"I take you, um, _Sarge_ , to be my husband." She looked at the alien and the bomb, "And NOW?"

"Not yet!" Andy snapped again, "By the power vested in us by the UNSC, the Reformed Traditionalist Messianic Congregation of the Swords of Sanghellios, and the Intergalactic Artificial Sentient Incendiaries Accord, we now pronounce you man and wife. _Now_ you may kiss the bride."

"Finally." Sister said, grabbed Sarge's shoulder and pulled him in for a kiss. Their helmet visors knocked into each other with enough force to leave them staggering back a few steps, and they remembered they were still wearing armor.

"I said kiss the bride." Andy laughed. "Not headbutt her."

Instead of kissing, Sister walked over to Washington and whispered in his ear. As she rejoined Sarge, the former freelancer cleared his throat, unsure why he'd been given this honor. "So, it is my pleasure to present to you Mr and Mrs, um, _Sarge_ , and their beautiful, and now totally legitimate, daughter, Keiki'ulalena ... Sarge."

Everyone exchanged sidelong glances in the stunned silence.

"Cake what?" Caboose asked.

"You like it?" Sister nodded. "It's Hawaiian."

"Ummm..."

"Sis, that name sucks!" Grif said.

"Hey! It was Gramma's name!"

"It still sucks!"

Grif hating the name washed all doubt from Sarge's mind. "Well," he puffed, pulling his daughter from Cecilia's arms. "I think it's a beautiful name for a beautiful little princess. Princess K-" He stopped, paused, and looked down at the baby. "Princess that I am calling Kiki, for short."

Sister leaned fondly on his arm, then called to Washington. "Hey! Camera guy! Family pictures!" Suddenly she froze, then reached out and grabbed Grif's hand, pulling him to her other side.

"Sis! What is it?"

"Fucking hormones," she muttered. Her voice was trembling, choked with emotion.

"Missy?" Sarge asked.

She put her arms around both of them, linking them as one group. "Family pictures," she said.

Washington held up the phone, framed the shot, and pushed the button.

X X X

An hour later, standing together by the alien ship, another parent was also trying to get in as much quality time as possible. Junior had the Great Weapon Key in his hand, showing Tucker that it lit up to his touch as well. Then, he handed the sword to his father, who was somewhat surprised that the blade didn't wink out in his grasp.

"Pretty cool!" Tucker said, "And chicks totally dig it! You're gonna have fun swinging this bad boy around." He offered the sword back, but Junior waved it off. "Woah, wait. Don't you want this? I mean... you're the hero from that prophecy, right?"

Junior patted the sword into his father's grip, and explained what he'd learned about the prophecy concerning his birth.

"Ohhh, I get it!" Tucker nodded. "So it's a split job. You're the savior, and I still get to keep my swashbuckling, sword swinging, hero status. Yeah...I guess that works for me." He clipped the alien relic to his side. "Still, you're sure you can't stop by our base for a couple weeks. Catch up?"

Junior shook his head and blarged at him.

"Yeah, okaaaay," Tucker sighed, disappointed. "I guess reforming an entire religion and bringing hope to the lost, and peace to the galaxy is kinda important or whatever. But it sounds like you got the shitty half of the job to me." He wagged his finger at his son. "You gotta promise to call. And I get every other weekend when you're not on a mission. I mean it. Don't make me lawyer up."

Simmons had wandered up the beach toward them. "I don't get it Tucker," he said. "You're an ambassador, too, right? Why don't you just go with him?"

"Oh, um." Tucker coughed. "See, I was gonna go back, ya know? But I talked to some of those recovery guys on Sidewinder, and it turns out that while I was in the desert..."

"He got fired!" Andy burst out.

"Fired?" Simmons glanced at the tactical bomb.

"Yup. Canned, kicked to the curb, cut loose."

"Nuh uh, I got _demoted_!" Tucker said. "Totally different. Still, it is such bullshit that you can get the boot for a little flirting on the job... I mean-"

"A little flirting?" Andy scoffed.

"What did you do?"

"Oh, there was this big peace summit thing, and there was this representative chick, who was kinda hot, I'd say, seven outta ten, ya know? She asks me what my position was. So, of course, I tell her _missionary_. And I mean, come on, that's technically true!"

"I think it was what you said _after_ that really set her off," Andy said.

"What? Seven out of ten is a huge compliment! I don't go around handing out perfect tens to anyone and everyone. I don't know why she was such a bitch about it. So one ambassador lodges a complaint."

"Or eleven," Andy corrected.

"But seriously, it's like you can't send pictures of anything to anyone anymore. Even if you blur out the best parts. And don't even get me started on the whole 'reply all' thing. Why do they even have that as an option!? It was an _accident_!"

Washington approached from the direction of the fortress. "Where are they?"

"Who?"

"Sarge and Kay. We've got the alien ship all loaded. They're ready to head out."

Grif came stomping from the other direction, holding Baby Kiki in his arms. "Well, I couldn't find them," He grumbled and huffed, like he felt quite put upon 'baby-sitting'. Cecilia trailed behind him, prepared to take the baby back the second Grif actually got tired of holding her.

"There they are." Washington sighed. Sarge and Sister tiptoed up the beach hand in hand, heads tucked close to each other whispering. Washington shook his head at the pair, before walking back to the ship.

"Where have you two been?" Grif asked.

Sister just giggled and readjusted her armor.

"Oh, don't tell me you two were-"

Sarge laughed. "Yup, I'm afraid you sister..."

"Please don't say it," Grif begged.

"Just got _Sarged_."

Grif stared up at the sky. "Death, I eagerly await your sweet embrace."

"Hee hee," Sister sidled in close to her brother, "Grif, have you ever had married sex?"

"What?!" Grif instinctively covered his niece's infant ears. "No, of course not!"

"It's awesome. Kinda like make up sex and hate sex all at once, but with _commitment_."

"Fucking hell." Grif groaned. "Isn't there some kind of, I don't know, post baby-having waiting period? Was that even safe?"

"Grif, you're so funny. Sex is _always_ safe."

"I am so glad we are marooning you alone in a box canyon with robot overlords."

"Seriously, it's not like, driving a car where you got like, a license or a class or something. Anyone can do it. Even stupid people!"

"Seriously?"

"And animals."

"Sis!" Grif said, sharply. He turned to the robot beside him. "Seriously, good luck." Then he handed Cecilia the baby, and then walked off to stare at the sun until he hopefully went blind.

Sarge immediately scooped Kiki from Cecilia again. "Okay now, missy." He said to Sister, "You know the plan. Time to load em up."

"Right..." Sister nodded slowly, "The plan... What was the plan again?"

"Dios mio." Cecilia sighed.

"See, Cecilia knows the plan!" Sarge said, "Why don't you know it? I just told you!"

"When? While we were having sex?"

"Well, we didn't have all day. Multitasking! I thought you were paying attention. You kept agreeing with everything I said."

"While having sex?"

"Yes. It's called sexpostion. Learned it from that Wheel of Thrones game show. Its the most efficient and convenient way to pass on vital information when pressed for time."

"Uhhh, right," Sister said. "Why don't we go over it again?"

Sarge coughed into his free hand. "Ahem, as much as I'd like to, we are on a schedule." He looked her up and down, regretfully. "And we just got all the armor back on."

"Ella quiere decir los planes, imbécil." Cecilia grumbled.

"Okay, I'll recap the plan for you again, Cecilia, since you weren't there," Sarge said.

"Gracias a Dios."

"These alien fellas will drop you ladies off back at Blood Gulch. Abandoned, decommissioned, top-secret training bases are gonna be the safest place for you to keep outta sight of the military. Returning the MIA to the scene of the 'A' they went 'M' at; it'll be the last place they'll ever think to look for you. Which they won't be. Because you're dead, remember. "

"Uhhhh..." Sister nodded. "Uh-huh."

"Okay, so we're set. You're going back to Blood Gulch with the little lady," He poked the baby gently on the nose, "and senorita la robota. And I'm finishing out my tour at Valhalla."

"But...but how long is _that_ going to be?" She whined.

"Oh, I don't imagine it'll be too much longer. And when this tour is up, I won't reenlist. Or I can fake my death. I've always wanted to do that. But I can't just run away, you see. No way I'm leaving the Army with a back mark on my record. Honorable discharge or honorably faked death."

Sister crossed her arms over her chestplate. "I don't like it."

"I don't expect you to like it! I expect you to bravely hold down the home front with bitter resentment. You're joining the grand tradition of army wives."

"But you're gonna miss stuff!" She said.

Sarge didn't reply. He looked down at his daughter, thinking. Still pouting, Sister wrapped her arms possessively around his waist.

"Okay," Andy shouted from the ship down the beach. "Time to hit the spacelanes!"

X X X

Goodbyes are excruciating, even for people who fully intend to see each other again soon. And even people too dense to articulate it, feel the weight and the anxiety. Because 'goodbye' takes absolutely everything a relationship is, and tries to jam it all into a few words, a sideways hug, a knowing look, or a glance. A 'goodbye' narrows an entire experience down to a single piercing point in time, the bigger the love, the deeper it cuts. And that is why everyone hates goodbyes.

Junior and Tucker said good-bye. Sister, Kiki and Sarge said good-bye. And no one felt like they had said enough.

Junior's Uncle's spaceship was a tiny blip in the sky when it hit slipspace and disappeared. The Red and Blues stood still on the beach, watching it.

"Whelp," Sarge said, swallowing down a lump in his throat. "There go my ladies, safe and sound."

"You're really gonna miss her, huh, Sarge?" Simmons asked.

"Yep, but as long as our radios are on secure long-range we can keep in touch. She's been teaching me how to do this Facetime, Snapchat, Livestream text thing. Watch." He put his hand to the side of his head. "Helmet! Voice to text to the Misses.' Goldilocks, miss you and the little cub already. Smiley face. Less than numeral three." The helmet dinged as the message was sent.

"Okay, I've got to ask one thing," Grif said, "Why do you keep calling my sister Goldilocks? Because of her armor color?"

"Oh, that's just a little pet name I took to calling her back at Blood Gulch, after one evening when she broke into Red Base. She ate all my food, destroyed my furniture and then passed out in my bed." He sighed, fondly. "It was adorable." Sarge turned to Washington, Tucker and Caboose. "Well, seeing as you got us the ride outta there, Blues, I guess we're even now."

"Even?" Tucker scoffed.

"Yup. Even. We fought the Meta to save Church and Tex. So you owed us."

"Great job on that by the way," Tucker interjected.

"Still, no one asked us to go. So, now we're square."

"Uh, I don't think so!" Tucker said. "Who flew over and picked up your sorry baby momma, and then called us in a ride out of that frozen wasteland?"

"Yeah," Caboose pointed at the Reds.

"Nope," Sarge shook his head. "Square."

"Really?" Washington crossed his arms, "And who dragged your unconscious body to safety, healed you, held off alien attackers _and_ was willing to make a hopeless suicide charge in the face of overwhelming odds so your family could get away?"

"Yeah," Caboose pointed with his other hand.

"Hmph, fine." Sarge grumbled. "We owe you one. One! On the condition that, once we get back to base, none of you ever mention any of this ever again. Once we're at Valhalla, Kiki doesn't exist and Kay is dead to us. We can never speak of her again. Except in the past tense, to insult Grif."

"What!" Grif said, "Why?"

"To protect them both. A hero must be ever vigilant with the ones he loves. The forces of evil will always go after the weak and innocent things he cares about most. So not a word!" He glanced over his shoulder, then said in low tones. "There are eyes and ears everywhere."

"Agreed," Washington said.

"Wait? Agreed?" Grif sputtered, " _You're_ agreeing with this?"

"And that's another thing," Sarge turned to point at his orange soldier. "Grif, don't go thinking I'm gonna start taking it easy on you because I'm your father-in-law."

"Brother-in-law," Grif corrected.

"What?"

"You're my brother-in-law," Grif said, "You married my sister, so now we're brothers. In _law_." He stressed the last word.

"Heh," Sarge laughed derisively, "I don't think so. I'm the father."

"No, Sarge, _my_ father would be your father-in-law, and my mother, she's your mother-in-law. And if your parents are still around, if they've been like, cryogenically frozen, or are some kind of ageless undead vampire creatures...they would be Sis' father and mother-in-law. But I'm your wife's brother, so I'm your brother. In LAW."

"You dimwit! You're not making a lick of sense. Listen, your sister had a baby, Kiki, that I am the father of. And I married the mother of that baby, your sister, Kay, making the fatherhood legal and binding. Thus I am the father-in-law. Your father-in-law. Her father-in-law. The baby's father-in-law. I'm everybody's father now."

"And what am I to you then?"

"What you've always been," Sarge snapped. "My subordinate!"

"Dammit, Sarge, listen..."

"Grif. You know what we call listening to other people's arguments? _Losing_." Suddenly Sarge's helmet dinged.

"And look, she already answe- hem..." Sarge coughed.

Then Grif's helmet dinged, followed by a chorus of similar chimes.

"Woah," Simmons gasped.

Washington staggered back. "What on Earth!?"

"Ahhhhh!" Grif screamed.

Tucker just sighed, blissfully. "God bless reply all."

"I don't get it." Caboose said, "Wh-what is that?"

Washington gripped the Blue's shoulder, "I'll tell you when you're older."

After saving the file away for another day, Tucker turned to his teammates. "So, I don't know about you guys, but I'm finally ready to get back to wherever you've been calling base and chill out for a week."

"Yes!" Caboose nodded vigorously, "Agent Church?"

"Almost." Washington looked at the alien fortress. "There's one last thing I need to do."

X X X

Alone, atop the fortress, Washington knelt by a charred waist-high wall, fumbling with a small object in his hand.

"I'm not really good at this," He said to the empty air in front of him. "There was a time, before…everything, when this would have come a lot easier. But I have some things I wanted to say to you. Things I should have said a long time ago."

"You were a good person and a good friend, and I should have been there for you." He hung his head. "Like you were there for Tex. I should have been there for Delta, and North and all the rest. And so, I wanted to say I'm sorry."

"I guess I've said that a lot lately. I guess I have a lot to apologize for. Sometimes I feel like I'm going to spend the rest of my life apologizing." He looked off to the beach, where he could see the tiny figures of brightly colored simulation troopers waiting. "But I can live with that, because there are worse things. I deserve worse things."

"It doesn't seem fair that out of all of us, I'm the one left; the only one who gets another shot." Washington paused, and looked down at the object in his hand. "I try to think of what you would do, if you were in my shoes. Because if anyone deserved a second chance, a do over, it was you."

"And I wanted to say, I miss you. I miss all of you guys, and I have for a long time. I just didn't realize it." He sighed. "I hope that, wherever you are, you finally found peace, and I hope that wherever that is, you finally found her." Washington carefully placed the blackened lighter on the stained stones. "So goodbye, York. Sorry it took me so long to say it." He bowed his head.

As he came out of his moment of silence for York, Washington became aware of a low hissing in his earpiece, and the barely audible whispers of breathing over the radio. "Hello, is someone there?" No one answered.

He stood, alarmed. "I can hear your feedback in my-"

" _Hello, Agent Washington._ " The voice in his ear was strong and female.

"You must have faulty information," he said. "Agent Washington is dead."

" _Is that so?_ " She asked.

"Yes."

" _That's quite a coincidence._ " she replied, wryly. " _So am I._ " She sounded more familiar, as if the speaker was removing a mask from her tone.

He looked around. "Who...who is this?"

" _Just another ghost, Wash, _" she said, " _Looking for a second chance._ " And there was no more playacting. The voice was straight out of his past. The blood in Washington's veins froze.__

__"Carolina?"_ _

__The End_ _

__

_**In Dublin Town,1842, my blood was born ready for you.  
Perfect sunrise, Early '86.A score and two days you were my fix.** _

_**And I don't own the ocean,and I don't own these rocks.  
The riches inside me never need locks.** _

_**Thoughts of your smile that run in my mind,  
Are priceless treasure and a goldmine.** _

_**And I don't own this rain storm,and no warmth I can feel,  
But I've got some riches that no one can steal.** _

_**Cause thoughts of your voice that run in my mind  
Are priceless treasure.They are a gold mine.** _

_**I'm not too smart.I'm not too dumb.  
I'll care for you, and who you'll become. ** _

_**"Goldmine Blues" from the Ghosts that Linger album by Trocodero.** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks so much to everyone who has read and reviewed over the years. I didn't plan to take this long to write it. I more or less had the whole story outlined at the end of Season 10, so I am AMAZED that four seasons later I haven't really been jossed. In my headcanon, it's easy to pretend poor Sarge is going crazy shipwrecked on Chorus missing his family. Still I know that, with the end of Season 13, someday Sister and Junior are going to show up again and knock over my house of cards. Hopefully to replace it with something better.


End file.
